


In Safe Hands

by AeroplanesR0ck



Series: Safe in Your Hands [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Breathplay, Cock Worship, Come Eating, Coming Untouched, Dark John, Dom John, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Kink Shaming, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Submission, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Rope Bondage, Scarification, Sex Toys, Slut Shaming, Slut Sherlock, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Humiliation, but honestly John is the softest and most indulgent Dom, do not try this at home, seriously, soft john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 61
Words: 33,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6702193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroplanesR0ck/pseuds/AeroplanesR0ck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock thinks he's left his past behind, but just like food gone bad, as long as it's in you, it always comes back up. His feelings for John and the return of an old 'friend' send him into the arms of someone whom he thinks will give him what he needs. </p>
<p>Fill for <a href="https://sherlockbbc-fic.dreamwidth.org/75973.html?thread=260463557#cmt260463557">this prompt</a> on Dreamwidth</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I See You Again

**Author's Note:**

> If you look at my works you'll probably figure out that I basically only do prompt fills. Partly because I like making people happy. Plus I usually need someone else to spark a fresh idea, give me something to work with. I look at it as making the baby. Prompter is the daddy, I'm the mummy. They provide the seed, I do all the work. Although, as I'm learning in my developmental psych module, tbh the baby does all the making, mummies just provide the nutrients. Which is kind of how I write. It's me typing, but tbh the stories write themselves.

The air at the crime scene was distinctly uncomfortable in a way that usually was reserved for particularly gruesome death. So when they got to the scene of the crime itself Sherlock had been expecting something other than the clean and in fact completely bloodless scene he found. The cause of the officers’ discomfort was clearly apparent. The man on the bed was naked save for a tightly laced corset. His position was clearly sexual, face down on the bed but propped up on his knees, legs spread obscenely wide. His hands were stretched out in front of him, tied securely to the headboard. 

“This wasn’t an accident.” Sherlock declared. 

“How do you know?” Lestrade asked. 

Sherlock indicated the intricate ropework around the victim’s wrist. “This isn’t the work of an amateur. The murderer knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t have made a mistake like this, it was deliberate. Don’t think it was the boyfriend, either.”

He whirled through the room, looking through the closet, the cupboards, every cranny of the bedroom.

“Definitely not the boyfriend.”

John tried to follow Sherlock’s train of thought. “Why not?”

“They lived here, together.” Sherlock popped his head into the ensuite bathroom. “Two toothbrushes, two kinds of shampoo.” he strode back to the centre of the room, gesturing at the closet. “Clothes, in two distinct styles. This was their bedroom. Where, presumably, they had sex together. Very vanilla and boring sex, evidently.”

John waved a hand towards the bed. “Doesn’t look boring to me.”

“Yes, because it wasn’t the boyfriend! Look, there’s nothing in here. No toys, or more rope, not a single pair of fancy knickers, nothing that might indicate they might be doing anything...interesting.” He pointed at the bed. “You’re seriously think they’re doing something like _this_ , and they own nothing other than a length of rope and one corset? He had a lover. Obviously.”

“They could have a special room.” Anderson piped up. “Some people do, you know. Like a sex dungeon.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You’ve searched this house. _Is_ there a sex dungeon?”

“Well, no.” Anderson admitted. “But there could be a secret room.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in disgust. “There is no secret room. And if they did have one, then they would be _there_ instead of _here_.”  
He turned to leave. “Come along, John!”

“Wait, where are you going?” Lestrade called. 

Sherlock turned and smirked. “To talk to the murderer.”


	2. Me Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock mentally prepares himself.

John followed at Sherlock’s heels as they left the crime scene. 

“So the lover. You know how to find him?” John pressed. “How?”

“Not just how to find him. I know who he is.”

John looked suitably impressed. “How?”

Sherlock paused slightly before speaking. “I’m...familiar with his work. I recognised his style.”

John frowned. “So he’s killed before?”

Sherlock huffed. “Of course not. If he had, considering I know who he is, don’t you think he’d be incarcerated already? No, I’m talking about the ropework.”

John nodded. “You said it was someone who knew what he was doing.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock agreed. “If they do this long enough, people tend to develop a style. This one is immediately recognisable, he hasn’t changed much in the last decade or so.”

John’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a long time.” 

Sherlock shrugged noncommittally. Something niggled in the back of John’s brain- it didn’t register yet, though it really should have been obvious. He’d just become much too used to Sherlock and his tendency to have unexplained stores of obscure knowledge.

“So where are we going?” John asked.

“Home. I need to change.”

“And then where are we going?”

“I’m going out. I need to talk to some of my contacts.”

“I’m coming with you.” John said firmly.

“No you’re not.” Sherlock countered. “I’ll need you later, but this isn’t really something you can tag along on. They’re a sensitive bunch, don’t like outsiders.”

This was a lie, but a necessary one. In truth the crowd loved newcomers, although ‘newcomers’ generally ran more along the lines of 20 year-old virgins, like Sherlock had been, rather than middle-aged ex-army doctors. Although John would probably be quite welcome, with his military experience and fit build. Sherlock could imagine him fitting in quite nicely, actually, with his dominant personality and- He quickly steered his thoughts away from the direction they were heading. This was precisely why John couldn’t come. Sherlock wasn’t going undercover, so much as coming out from years of being undercover, shedding the skin he carried around with him everywhere. It was a subtle difference, but one he couldn’t risk John picking up on before he was ready to explain. He knew that point was approaching fast. He just needed time to _think_.

He considered dropping the case, for a very brief second. Anxiety overwhelmed him, but he forcefully shoved it down. That wouldn’t help anything. The murderer needed to be caught. The Work came first. He repeated it like a mantra in his head, loudly, drowning out the thoughts that invaded his head, filling him with a familiar itch that had lain dormant for years. _The Work comes first_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I want to stick with Sherlock's POV, or alternate a little with John.


	3. You Look Beautiful Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock prepares to go out.

Back at 221B, Sherlock dug out his kit and locked himself in the bathroom, not bothering to take off his coat. Once safely in, he stripped, then washed himself thoroughly, cleaning all of the product out of his hair and blow drying it so it fell in soft loose, curls. He then proceeded to wax everything below the neck, wincing in pain at certain points. There’d been a point when he did it often enough that he’d barely noticed the stinging pain, but after five years, it felt almost like the first time.

_“You’re a pretty little thing.” The man had told him as he ran a warm, calloused hand over Sherlock’s thin and shaking body. The other hand was wrapped firmly around Sherlock’s ankle, raising his leg into the air at an angle that left him feeling acutely vulnerable. The man brushed a thumb over Sherlock’s exposed hole. “Could use a bit less of this, though.” He pinched a bit of the short brown hair between his fingers, tugging harshly. Sherlock thrashed violently, kicking out reflexively as he whined around the gag in his mouth._

Sherlock shuddered at the memory, forcing down the wave of arousal that pulsed through him. It was the routine of it, he told himself. After that scene, that moment had stuck with him, shining out through the cocaine and lust-fuelled blur. ‘You’re one to talk’ had been his immediate reaction (after the fact, of course- he’d preoccupied at the time). The man had been covered in hair from top to toe, including his chest, arms and back. Still, he’d done this exact preparation a hundred times at least since that moment. It was the only reason for the thrumming in his chest and arms and legs, the tingle that crawled across his palms. Just classical conditioning dropping him further into ‘space with every moment. 

He shook himself, mentally and physically. ‘ _Focus_ ’, he told himself. He got out his makeup kit, softening the contours of his face, highlighting his eyes, making his lips soft and wet. The last two things were a thin black collar that he buckled around his neck, and matching cuffs, wide and softly lined.

He examined himself in the mirror. His skin was still a little red from the waxing, and he huffed softly. Nothing to be done about that. He fussed with his makeup for a few minutes before forcing himself to pack up. He left the kit in the bathroom cabinet for later, then wrapping his coat tightly around himself, stepped out of the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I did a lot of googling for this, there's stuff I got wrong on purpose (as in realised after I wrote it that it was wrong but kept it in and made up an excuse for why it is so) and probably a bunch of stuff I don't even know I got wrong, but...suspension of disbelief? I guess?


	4. Just Get Yourself Home To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John figures it out.

John looked up from his book as he heard Sherlock finally come out of the bathroom. “You’re out. What kind of disguise exactly are you-”

He paused as he caught sight of Sherlock, taking note of the makeup on his face, which did nothing to hide his rather odd expression.

“What are you wearing, Sherlock?”

“Nothing.” Sherlock answered without thinking, the combination of John’s presence and his own flustered mental state completely cutting off communication between his mouth and his brain.

John looked again, noticing now the collar, the exposed skin beneath it, Sherlock’s bare (in more ways than one) legs and feet beneath the hem of the coat.

“Sherlock, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Where the hell are you going?”

Sherlock sighed, tucking the coat tighter around him before sitting down across from John.

“Nothing I haven’t done before.” Was all he said.

John’s eyes narrowed. “Considering the things I know you’ve done before, that doesn’t actually help much.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I’m not going to do...that.” He said, after a slight hesitation. Sex and drugs were intimately mixed up in his head. But no. This was for the Work. It was different, he wasn’t going to go there.

John sighed. “You’d better explain, Sherlock. Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, it is. Okay, the murderer. I told you I was familiar with his work. I am. Um, intimately familiar, I suppose you could say.” A light flush rose on Sherlock’s cheeks.

John looked incredulous. “You’ve had sex with the murderer.” He said flatly.

“That would depend on how you define sex.” Sherlock said evasively. “That’s beside the point, anyway.” He continued quickly. “We’ve lost contact, so I’m going to go ask around a little, that’s all.”

John raised an eyebrow. “And you have to be naked to do that.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “There’s a dress code.”

“Sherlock, you’re not wearing anything. That’s the opposite of a dress code, it’s an undress code.”

“Well, sometimes I wear a little more, but I googled it in the cab, there’s an event on in one of the clubs, something a bit more...intense, than the usual. No casual clothes allowed, but you are allowed to come in nothing. I much prefer it to latex, or even leather. Or neoprene, God.” He shuddered and stood, hoping to leave quickly.

John covered his eyes with his hand. This had to be the weirdest conversation he’d ever had with Sherlock, bar none. “This sounds really fucking unsafe, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stood. “I’ll be fine, I’ve done this a thousand times.”

“And if the murderer is there?” John argued. 

“Then he unfortunately may be tipped off that I’m on to him, but there’ll be tons of people there, he can’t exactly murder me in plain sight.”

“Maybe I should come with you.” 

“John, no. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb. In fact, they’ll likely force you to leave, you don’t have anything that fits the dress code.”

“Sherlock you’re not even wearing anything! So obviously I don’t need anything.”

Sherlock pictured this, and had to shove his hands in his pockets to hide the way they shook with desire. 

“Then you wouldn’t have anywhere to put your gun.” Sherlock actually felt proud of how steady his voice sounded. “John, I’ll be fine.”

“I want hourly updates. Text me.” John demanded.

Frustrated, Sherlock spread his hands, his coat falling open. “And where am I supposed to keep my phone? Up my arse?”

John looked away. “Button that, for God’s sake, you’re going to get arrested. When can I expect you home?”

Sherlock buttoned up his coat quickly, not looking at John. “The club closes at six. I’ll be back long before then, I’m sure, but don’t wait up.” 

Before John could protest further, he turned on his heel, hurrying down the steps to the flat and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys I need to ask you- I don't think Sherlock would use his real name in the club. So what do you think they should call him?


	5. What Did I Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does a little digging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't directly use any of y'alls suggestions, but thank you for getting my thinky ball rolling, it was actually a great help.

The club was more crowded than Sherlock remembered it, filled with people he didn’t recognise. He’d hung up his coat at the door, and was now lingering at the edges of the room, scanning for someone he might be able to approach. His eyes found Chloe, a sub like him, just as she spotted him, making a beeline over.

“Will! It’s been a while. Nearly a decade, innit? Heard you were on the straight and narrow. But look at you now.” She glanced down at him with a smirk. “Cruising, are you?”

Sherlock lowered his head, chuckling. “It’s hard to stay away. Things have changed a bit, though, I haven’t a clue who all these people are.”

Chloe looked out at the crowd. “I know, look at them. All young and fit like we used to be.” She glanced at Sherlock. “Although you still look twelve, you shithead. Couldn’t leave some for the rest of us?”

“Oh, I don’t know, your breasts are doing fairly well for a woman of, what, forty? Fifty?” 

Chloe pinched the small softness at Sherlock’s waist hard, and Sherlock yelped. “I am thirty-eight, fucker.”

Sherlock glanced at her neck. “And still haven’t managed to get yourself into a collar.”

Chloe touched her throat self consciously. “It’s called being picky, Will, instead of dropping for anyone who so much as looks at you. You’re being a real arse tonight, huh? If you’re looking for someone to get you down, I’m not gonna do it.”

Sherlock made a face. “Wouldn’t want you to. Who’s still around, then?”

Chloe bit her lip, thinking. “Um, Charlie’s gone, she moved to Japan or something, the other William- Blondie? Yeah, if you remember him, he joined the Marines. He drops in sometimes, like once a year. And then-”

Sherlock cut in irritably. “I asked who’s still around, not who’s not around.”

Chloe huffed. “Yes, I was getting to that. Basically a whole bunch of people moved, or dropped out of the scene, or died in a car crash, or something like that-”

“Who died in a car crash?”

“I dunno if you knew him that well? He was new on the scene when you left, Kayden.”

Sherlock nodded. “Mm, I knew him. He was alright.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.”

“Yes, so who’s still around?”

“There’s, um, Sean, Leanne, Michael- wait, no, Michael was after you left. There’s that guy with the eyes, the really intense one with the slick hair whatsisname-”

Sherlock’s gaze sharpened. “Robert Farley?”

Chloe noticed Sherlock’s look. “Oh, you would like him. He’s an asshole, Will. God, you’re so fucking unsafe. He’s not here, anyway, he’s only free on weekends nowadays.”

“But he’ll be here this weekend?” Sherlock pressed.

Chloe nodded. “Every weekend, like clockwork.”

“He’s a man of habit.” Sherlock murmured to himself. Then he turned back to Chloe. “There’s a guy who’s been staring at you this entire conversation.” He nodded his head at a young man across the room. 

Chloe sighed. “Oh, Seth. I should go talk to him. See you around, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded, glad to see her go now that he had the information he needed. Chloe was exhaustingly chatty. He turned, about to leave when he was approached by another familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with writing this chapter and I'm still not happy ugh


	6. The Friends We Made Along the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is convinced to stay.

“Hey, Sherlock! Of all the people, you’re probably the one I least expected to see here.”

“Detective Sergeant Davis.” Sherlock said stiffly. The man was on Dimmock’s team, and had transferred to London only a few months ago, but they had worked together a few times. 

“Please, call me Luke.” Davis smirked. “Or Sir, if you prefer that.” He reached out, putting a hand on Sherlock’s bare waist. Sherlock twitched, but made no other move to stop him, mind blanking as it filled with panic. Surprisingly, considering how long he’d been in this lifestyle, he’d never before met someone he knew from outside.

“You know what?” Davis continued. “I’ve decided I’m actually not surprised. You know how they say it’s always the quiet ones? Well the opposite holds true too. Mouthy brat like you, should’ve guessed why. You’re just desperate for someone to give you what you really need.”

If Sherlock had had pockets his hands would have been in them. His thumbs rubbed along the lengths of his fingers, resisting the urge to put his hands in front of himself. He felt cold in spite of the relatively warm room, and he thought he might be shaking, tremors rising from his tightly clenched abdomen. He did his best to find words.

“I’m investigating.” He said, but his voice was shaky and uncertain.

Davis glanced down at him, his gaze lingering on Sherlock’s bare skin like a physical sensation. “Well you’ve really gotten into character.” He laughed. His hand slid down to Sherlock’s hip, his long fingers just reaching past to rest on the curve of his arse. His hand was hot against him, and Sherlock could feel the callouses on them where they scraped against his skin. Davis stepped closer, and Sherlock visibly shuddered. Sherlock didn’t know himself, whether it was out of revulsion or desire. Davis smirked.

“Come on, then. Even if you were investigating, I can see that you like this. Why don’t we get ourselves a room, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

On a normal day, resisting would have been easy, but today was not a normal day. Partly, it was the atmosphere, the lighting and everything around that automatically brought Sherlock down several levels just by the power of association. Another part was his argument with John earlier, and another the crime scene, which had affected Sherlock more than he liked to admit, even to himself. Yet another part was simply the bit of Sherlock that never quite went away no matter how deep he went, that simply took offence to anyone showing him ‘how it was done’. 

The combination of these factors made giving in not exactly easy, but at the very least a great relief. Sherlock dropped his eyes to the floor, his shoulders relaxing fractionally as he allowed himself to hand control over to someone else. 

Davis smiled as he noticed the change in Sherlock. “Good boy.” He praised. He reached up, sliding his other hand into Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock leaned into the touch, a thrill running through him just from that small bit of physical affection. 

“You still haven’t answered my question, though.” Davis prompted.

“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock said automatically.

“Good. Come with me, then.” 

Sherlock took a step towards where he knew the private rooms were, but Davis stepped in front of him, blocking his path. 

“I think I told you to follow me.” He said icily. “Since you couldn’t even follow that simple instruction, you’ve lost the privilege of walking. On your knees.”

Sherlock hesitated, and then the hand in his hair curled around his locks, tugging sharply downwards. Sherlock folded down, his knees coming into contact with the smooth tiled flooring. Davis ruffled Sherlock’s curls in silent affirmation before removing his hand from Sherlock’s hair. 

“You’re to crawl at my heel. Stay close, stay behind me, stay on my left. Come on.”

He started walking towards the rooms. Sherlock crawled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I always fill my fics with OCs?


	7. I've Got My Own Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns home a little worse for the wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, y'all, I hope you know that pretty much everything depicted so far is completely unsafe sex practice. Do not touch people intimately without their express permission. Yes, even if they're naked. Especially then. Even at a BDSM club. Before having sex with someone, it should be entirely clear what each party wants, and what they are and are not okay with. Especially in the context of a BDSM scene. Have a safeword. Stick to it. Okay? Okay. Be safe, friends. Love ya

It was nearing dawn when Sherlock let himself into the flat. In the grey early morning light, he could make out the shape of John on the couch. Stepping closer, he noted John’s rumpled clothes, still the same as what he’d been wearing the day before, his mobile on the floor where it had dropped from his hand as he fell asleep. Sighing, Sherlock moved away, knowing John needed the rest. He must have stayed up until only a few hours ago. 

Sherlock moved as quietly as he could, a slight hitch in his step, heading towards the bathroom. He cleaned off his makeup, put what little there was of his outfit away. Then he showered thoroughly, looking down for the first time at the marks on his skin. They stood out clear against his pale torso, bright red imprints. Some places where he’d been hit a little harder were beginning to turn purple, and one or two were bleeding a little. He pressed against a bruise, his expression unchanging as pain bloomed beneath his fingers. 

He got out of the shower, towelling himself off before getting down their very well-stocked first aid box, applying antibiotic cream to the places where skin had broken. Now that he was clean, exhaustion seemed to set in. The case wasn’t yet over, but still, he couldn’t stop himself from dragging himself to the bedroom, collapsing face first onto his bed and falling asleep.

John woke late in the morning, jerking upright when he registered how late it was. Panic bloomed in his stomach, before dying down when he noticed one Sherlock’s shoes, lying on its side near the bathroom. Its mate was nowhere in sight, but this was a normal occurrence, Sherlock having an awful habit of kicking off his shoes once in the flat without caring where they might land. 

John got up with a groan, feeling his back click back into alignment with a series of small pops as he stood. He went through the kitchen towards Sherlock’s room. As he passed the bathroom he glanced through the open door, noticing the open first aid kit balanced on the sink with a tinge of worry. Then he knocked on Sherlock’s door. This elicited no response. Carefully, he pushed open the door, and was greeted by the sight of a completely naked Sherlock, fast asleep and fortunately on his front. John closed the door again, quickly and quietly. A part of John had been tempted to wake him, just to shout at Sherlock for leaving him to worry, and to make sure he was all right, not necessarily in that order. A louder part reminded him that he could just as easily shout at Sherlock later. In the meantime, John satisfied himself with the reminder that Sherlock was usually, at the very least, not stupid enough to let a life threatening injury go untreated. 

He went into the bathroom, neatening up the first aid kit. The antibiotic cream was left uncapped on the side of the sink, and John huffed in fond irritation. He kept everything away carefully before getting on with his morning routine as he waited for Sherlock to wake up, feeling glad that he didn’t have to go in to work on Fridays.


	8. I'll Put You Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up. He and John have a chat.

It was mid afternoon by the time Sherlock woke up, shuffling into the kitchen in inside-out T-shirt and pyjama pants, getting down a mug for tea. John glanced up from his book, shutting it and setting it aside. 

“What time did you get back this morning?” 

Sherlock half-shrugged. “Six-ish.”

John pressed his lips together. “What happened to ‘I’ll be back long before then’?”

“I also told you not to wait up.” Sherlock muttered. 

“So what happened?” John pressed.

“Something came up.” Sherlock said evasively. 

John raised an eyebrow. “Would that ‘something’ be the reason you needed the antibiotic cream?”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock said automatically.

“Show me.” John demanded.

Sherlock sighed. “I really am fine.”

“Please? For my peace of mind.”

Sherlock fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “You’re not going to like it.” He warned.

“I’m already not liking this.” John said flatly.

Sherlock sat down on a kitchen chair, and with one smooth movement, pulled off his T-shirt. He lifted his head, jutting out his chin defiantly as if daring John to comment. 

“Christ, Sherlock.” John muttered. “How the fuck did you get those?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “How do you think?”

John sat down next to Sherlock to get a closer look. “This isn’t funny, Sherlock. What is this from, a crop? On your abdomen, fucking hell. You know you have internal organs there, right? Or did you delete that important bit of information?”

“I have not deleted the concepts of internal organs.” Sherlock said flatly.

John straightened up, sighing. “And you know we have a cream for treating bruises? You didn’t use it.”

“I was tired.”

John sighed again, more deeply. He got up. “Stay right there. I’ll get it.”

John returned with the tube of paste, uncapping it as he sat back down to dab it liberally on the bruises.

“I really hope this was consensual.” John muttered.

“Hm.”

John looked up sharply. “Was it? Sherlock?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said irritably. “Would you like to know exactly what happened as well?”

John turned his attention back to Sherlock’s torso. “No, thank you. This is weird enough as it is.”

John’s words sent a chill through Sherlock. ‘Weird’ was only a step down from ‘Freakish’. He should’ve known John wouldn’t understand, even if he was pretending to be okay with it. He stood, shaking John off.

“You needn’t trouble yourself, John. I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.” 

Grabbing his T-shirt, he almost fled to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sons are such dumbs


	9. Who Am I to Blow Against the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John attempts to apologise.

John jerked up as Sherlock almost ran from the room. ‘You fucked up.’ His brain told him. He scowled at himself. He knew that, obviously. But how to fix it? Talk to Sherlock, obviously. And try not to put his foot in his mouth. He went to Sherlock’s bedroom, knocking quietly on the door. There was no response. He tried again, and when that still didn’t work he opened the door cautiously. Inside, Sherlock was sitting on his bed, knees up to his chest. One arm was draped across them, chin resting on his forearm. His other hand smoothed up and down one shin, his eyes tracking the rhythmic movement, seemingly in a trance. He stilled when John entered the room.

“Can I sit down?”

Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eye and hummed softly in assent. 

John sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think you’re weird.” He said cautiously. “Not for being yourself, or this- thing you do. What I meant was- What’s weird is that there’s a whole side of you that I never knew about. After this many years of knowing you...it feels big.”

There was a long pause. “It is myself.” Sherlock said quietly.

John looked up.”What is?”

“You separated the two things. Me, and this thing. It’s not separate.” Sherlock clarified.

John nodded slowly. “You stopped, though? That was what you implied, anyway.”

Sherlock began plucking anxiously at the bedspread. “I did. But it’s...he…”

John’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”

“Nothing I didn’t want him to.” Sherlock said quickly. “It was just...a little fast. I hadn’t intended to worry you.”

“So did you find out anything about the suspect?” 

Sherlock nodded. “He’ll be at the club on Saturday. I don’t want to confront him there, we’ll follow him home. We’ll see how it goes then.”

Sherlock was still fiddling anxiously, and John gently placed his hand over Sherlock’s. Sherlock stilled, the tension slowly leaking out of his shoulders. He uncurled a little, breathing out slowly.

“I’m coming with you, right?”

Sherlock looked up at John. “Are you?”

John read the question behind the question. He smiled, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. “Of course I am. I’ve got your back.”

Sherlock allowed himself to relax back against the headboard. He smiled at John. “Good.”

John took his hand back, sensing the return to normality, or at least whatever passed for normality between them. He got up. “Well, between now and tomorrow night you’ve got plenty of time to digest something without it ‘slowing you down’. What do you want for lunch?”

“That carrot and potatoes thing.”

John sighed. “I’ve given up trying to get you to remember the names of things. Okay. One carrot and potatoes thing coming up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in school. Which was an...interesting experience.


	10. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimism is always dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm not posting every day like I usually do. School has started, assignments, all that good stuff. I'll post as often as I can.

Stakeouts are never as interesting as you think they’re going to be. John always forgets this. It’s mainly Sherlock’s fault. He has this sort of magnetic enthusiasm that makes everything around him seem like a good, fun idea. Or possibly only John reacted to him that way. Sherlock was a little more subdued than usual, this time, though, but he put a good face on it, and it was only years of knowing him that allowed John to see that more was going on.

It was three in the morning, and they were still perched on the roof of that bloody club, waiting for Farley to emerge. They’d seen him go in hours ago, and in the meantime they’d just been watching the entrance, joints slowly stiffening in the cold air as the night wore on. John was beginning to doze off, head dropping against Sherlock’s shoulder before jerking back upright. Sherlock took his eyes off the street for a moment, turning his head to smile fondly down at his friend. 

“You can sleep if you want, he probably won’t-”

He cut off, leaping to his feet as he saw Farley walking below them. They hadn’t been seen, but even from two storeys up he seemed too large, too close. Sherlock’s heart pounded, but he hid it masterfully.

“Come on.”

They followed Farley along the rooftops as he went towards the main street. From there, he hailed a cab, driving off. John turned to Sherlock, who made no move.

“We’ve lost him. What now?”

Sherlock huffed in amusement. “Of course we haven’t lost him, John. We know exactly where he’s going.”

John raised an eyebrow, only half visible in the darkness. “I don’t.”

Sherlock began jogging down the fire escape, confidence filling him. His feet were loud against the metal, an audible signal of his elation. The net was closing. They almost had him. 

“He told the driver his address.” He called back to John in explanation.

“Christ, you’ve got ears like a bat.” John muttered. “What now?”

Down on the street, Sherlock turned to beam up at John, hair almost golden in the yellow light of the streetlamp. 

“You’re hungry and tired. We can’t confront him now, and he’s not going anywhere. So we’ll go get something to eat, then home. You have a nap, and we’ll go get him later today.”

John smiled, pleased that Sherlock was considering him even in his excitement. “Sounds good. Thanks, Sherlock.”

Sherlock returned the smile easily. “Come on, then.”


	11. In Your Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crime solving is actually a lot of hanging around and waiting.

It was nearing three when Sherlock and John’s cab pulled up in a side street near where Farley presumably lived. John was thrumming with the excitement of a case, his gun a solid weight in the small of his back. They walked the rest of the way, Sherlock reaching out and clasping John’s wrist to stop him when they turned the corner. He peered around it at the house.

“He’s not home.’ he declared, sounding pleased.

“So what’s the plan?” John asked.

“Pick the lock, go in, lie in wait for him, then arrest him. Shouldn’t be too hard.” 

John frowned. “You’re going to pick the lock in broad daylight?”

Sherlock grinned. “Of course. Best time to do it really, no one will suspect a thing. After all, who breaks into a house at three in the afternoon?”

“Only nutters like you and the poor sods who follow them around.” John conceded.

Used to John’s grumbling, Sherlock only smiled wider and began to walk briskly towards the house. As he’d expected, breaking in went smoothly, and they settled down in Farley’s bedroom to wait for him to get back. Sherlock reclined carelessly on the bed, but John remained standing, uncomfortably aware that he was in the house of a murderer. He glanced around the room.  
“This is a pretty normal looking bedroom.” He observed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”

“Dunno. Something more dungeon-y?”

“Basement.” Sherlock said simply.

John narrowed his eyes at him. “You’ve been here before.”

Sherlock frowned. “That was a lucky guess. I could easily have deduced it.”

John grinned. “Your tone was off. You have a particular way of speaking, when it’s a deduction.”

Sherlock reflected that it was funny how Sherlock was the one person John could successfully deduce, and John was the one person who on occasion eluded his deductions without even trying. 

“So what’s it like, then?” John continued, interrupting Sherlock’s train of thought. “Doing this, uh, what’s the correct term? Why do you like it?”

“BDSM.” Sherlock responded to the easiest question first, then fell silent for a while as he thought. “I like being in control.” He began.

John frowned. “That seems...sort of counter-intuitive.”

Sherlock nodded. “Perhaps. But being in control is exhausting. Yet I can’t just give it up. It’s not in my nature. I need it wrenched from me by another person, someone who is willing to force to my knees and make me do whatever he wants, with no care for what I want.”

John blinked at Sherlock. “That...sort of makes sense. In a twisty sort of way.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to continue, but then his head jerked up, and he gestured for John to keep quiet. 

“He’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever mentioned that I love Sherlock a lot? He's my son, my babe. I don't know why I always do awful things to him.


	12. At Last We See Each Other Plain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation goes...not as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing yesterday, I actually wrote this chapter yesterday but then didn't like it so I tabled it and completely revamped the whole thing today. So I hope it's all right.

Sherlock leapt silently to his feet, growing still and quiet. He motioned for John to get behind him. ‘Cover my back’ is what he meant. John followed Sherlock’s lead, getting into position and pulling his gun out.

Farley, comfortable and at ease in his own home, didn’t register their presence until he stepped into his bedroom. His eyes snapped up from unbuttoning his wrist cuffs as he registered their presence. Rather than bolting, however, or even looking alarmed, he calmly scanned Sherlock up and down, putting his hands in his pockets.

“William. It’s been a while. You’re looking...more dressed than usual.”

Sherlock didn’t correct him on the matter of his name. He found he didn’t particularly want to hear his name in the man’s voice. 

“This isn’t a social call.” Sherlock said flatly. He took the handcuffs out of his pocket.

Farley grinned. “Direct as always. Though it’s usually me who has the handcuffs.”

“You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder. Don’t try to run, it never ends well.” Sherlock tilted his head, indicating John who had his gun out and a grim expression on his face.

Farley eyed John, not seeming cowed in the slightest. “Yes, I did notice your friend. Did you finally settle down? Find a nice Dom to take care of you, that’s why you vanished?”

Sherlock made a face but didn’t otherwise respond, moving forward to put the cuffs on him. Farley’s voice dropped as Sherlock drew closer.

“Oh, I see. Gone normal, have you? Or pretended to, anyway. So he’s never fucked you with bigger and bigger things until you cried, or whipped you black and blue all over, or-”

Sherlock’s fingers faltered for just a second, and that was all the opening Farley needed. Quick as a flash, he whipped out a knife and sliced into Sherlock’s belly before bolting, not looking back once to see if his ploy had worked. Sherlock fell to his knees in shock, pain bursting across his abdomen. John hesitated between going to his friend and running after him, and in that split second Farley was gone. 

John dropped onto his knees beside Sherlock, fingers working frantically to get Sherlock’s shirt out of the way.

“I’m fine.” Sherlock was saying irritably. “You should’ve gone after him. I’ve had worse.”

John breathed a sigh of relief to find that indeed, the cut was long but shallow, and relatively clean. He stood, holding out a hand to help Sherlock up. He removed his scarf, passing it to Sherlock. 

“To keep the blood from staining the cab. Come on, home. I can treat you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...how many of you totally saw that coming?


	13. I Will Try to Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John patches Sherlock up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate assignments. I have so many. Ugh :(

Sherlock watched John silently as the doctor tended to his wound, carefully cleaning and bandaging it.

“Your torso has really had it these past few days.” John murmured. Between the cut and the yellowing bruises, Sherlock’s front really looked a mess. The cut ran through one of the bruises, and was bleeding especially profusely because of that. “I would prescribe bed rest, but I don’t really believe that’s going to happen. What’s happening with Farley? Do you know where he went?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I texted Mycroft, he won’t be leaving England. But he could still be anywhere. I need more data. I’ve got my Homeless Network watching Farley’s house, I’ll know if he comes back. We should go back, see if he has anything. Another possibility would be to ask around, see if anyone knows anything.”

John sat back on his heels. “If you go back to the club, I want to come with you.” He said firmly.

Sherlock shook his head. “John, I’ll be alright.” He didn’t want John seeing him in that environment. Knowing was one thing, but seeing it was another. He still didn’t believe that John could see him the same way if he did. What John was to him, the way John trusted him, believed in him, praised him, followed him, looked after him, was something that Sherlock treasured deeply. He didn’t want to lose that.

“That’s what you said they night before you came home covered in bruises.” John aid flatly.

“I am fine.” Sherlock insisted. 

John shook his head, changing tack. “Anyway, you said you wanted to go back to check out his house first. Maybe we’ll find something. No need to go back to the club. When do you want to go?”

Sherlock stood. “Now. No time to waste. The longer he has, the easier it will be for him to disappear.”

John stood, grabbing his scarf, which was still soaked in Sherlock’s blood. He looked mournfully at it. “Should I even bother trying to soak this?”

Sherlock stood too, going into his bedroom to put on a fresh shirt. He left the door open so he could still hear John. “Hydrogen peroxide.” He said briskly. “Your scarf will be fine.”

“Thanks.” John said, sounding surprised. “Useful, having a chemist around.”

Sherlock emerged from the bedroom, tucking his shirt in as he walked. “Well, it’s one of your less objectionable items of clothing. I’m worried you'll replace it with something awful.”

“Git.” John said, with a note of fondness in his voice. “Okay, I’m going to go do that, then we can go. Give me five minutes.”


	14. It's Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John search Robert Farley's study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been a while. A whole week. Submissions week + crushing depression = low creative productivity BUT after the 7th of June I PROMISE to get back to daily updates. Bc holiday.

Again, instead of taking a taxi up to the house, they stopped further away, walking over. This time, they’d stopped further than they had before. 

“You think he might be back?” John asked, trying to figure out why they needed to take this precaution.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, not so soon. And if he is, I’ll know.”

“Then why-” John paused as Sherlock suddenly veered into a coffee shop. 

“Black coffee, whatever’s the largest size you have.” Sherlock was ordering. He turned to John. “Anything, John?”

John blinked in slight confusion. “Uh, yeah, sure.” 

Sherlock turned back to the barista. “And another black coffee. In whatever is the standard amount.”

Used to just following along with Sherlock and waiting for something to unfold, John found it somewhat anticlimactic when, as they approached Farley’s house, Sherlock discreetly passed the (rather enormous) cup of coffee to a man huddled on the corner as they passed him, along with what looked to be about fifty pounds. 

The presumably homeless man gave them both a grin and a wink, raising the paper cup in a salute. 

“That’s a lot of coffee.” John remarked as they walked on.

Sherlock gave him a half-smile. “He’ll be there all night.”

In the house, they went straight for the study, looking for anything that might be of importance. John rifled through the desk drawers, telling Sherlock what he found. Sherlock looked on his own, half his attention on what John was doing and half on the stuff he was looking through.

“Bills.” John told Sherlock.

“What for?”

“Water and electricity.” 

“Recent?”

“Yeah, just last month.”

“Anything unusual?”

“No, looks normal for one person with a house this size, paid on time.”

“What else?”

They continued like this for a while, Sherlock collecting up a small stack of things that might prove interesting. 

“Oh, this is not good.” Sherlock said suddenly.

John looked up. “What’s not good?”

Sherlock brandished a notebook he’d found. “He’s been taking apprentices.”

John nodded slowly. “And that means…?” He prompted.

“My initial deduction has been compromised. You remember I said that I recognised his ropework, because of how distinctive it was. But it could have been any number of people, whom he taught it to.”

John frowned. “But...he stabbed you. And then ran. That sort of implies he’s guilty, right?”

Sherlock shook his head. “In any ordinary person, yes, that would be the implication. But Robert isn’t an ordinary person. He’s...it’s a game, to him. Everything is a game, a power play. He could easily just be toying with me. Just like old times.” His lips twitched almost into a smile.

John caught Sherlock’s expression, along with Sherlock’s use of Farley’s first name, worry unfurling in the pit of his stomach. “He stabbed you, Sherlock.” He said emphatically, trying to get through to him. “Don’t make this like Moriarty again, this isn’t fun, it’s not a game.”

Sherlock heard John, trying to shake himself back into a normal headspace. He couldn’t help making excuses, though. “He didn’t stab me, you’re exaggerating. It was barely a nick. He’s done worse to me.”

John’s expression was stony. “That is in no way a comforting thought, Sherlock.”

Sherlock ducked his head, placatingly holding out the notebook. “He’s had a few over the years, the details are in here, though I haven’t fully looked through it yet.”

John took the notebook, flipping through it as Sherlock read over his shoulder. 

“Stop.” Sherlock said suddenly. He pointed at the page, specifically at a name written on it. Luke Davis. “I have a plan.”


	15. I So Hate Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John puts his foot in his mouth again.

“That’s a terrible plan.” John said flatly once Sherlock had finished explaining.

Sherlock looked taken aback. “There’s a high chance that it will work.”

“Still.” John spluttered, gesturing widely. “There’s got to be other ways. There’s no need to...to whore yourself out for a case.”

Sherlock visibly paled, though he attempted to stand his ground. “There’s no need to be dramatic. He has information, and I have an easy way to get it.”

John snorted. “I think you’re the one being easy.” He muttered without thinking.

Sherlock grew very still. He’d known this would happen, although he’d almost forgotten, had just started letting his guard down. No, John was the same as everyone else, though he tried to pretend he wasn’t. He’d never understand. 

John could see Sherlock withdrawing into himself, and this time he didn’t know how to fix it. He’d crossed a line, he knew it, and he had no excuse. He still thought Sherlock’s plan was an awful one, but he’d gone about trying to dissuade him all wrong. Before his eyes, Sherlock seemed to snap back to himself, seemingly just the same, but John could tell he was different, less relaxed, not as open.

“We’ll keep searching here, take everything that could be useful.” Sherlock said briskly. “I’ll need you to catalogue all this stuff, try to pick out any relevant data, just in case. You can do that while I’m...talking, with Davis.”

John nodded awkwardly. “Sherlock.” he said, making one last attempt at salvaging the situation. “I don’t- I’m just worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sherlock bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll be alright, John.”

He turned, grabbing a briefcase that he’d been looking through, and began stuffing all the interesting looking papers into it.

“Laptop, too.” Sherlock pointed, still not looking at John. John handed it over silently. 

Sherlock finally looked up at John, though his eyes were guarded and closed off, with none of the easy warmth that John had grown so used to, he hadn’t even noticed it was there until it was gone. Having Sherlock look at him like that was an uneasy experience. John felt like shuddering. 

Sherlock smiled at John, making an effort to stay normal. “Ready to go?” His voice sounded falsely cheerful, even to him. 

John dropped his gaze, too unnerved to keep looking at Sherlock. “Yeah, let’s go.” He agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 7000 words in, still no porn, really. I'm...why do I keep doing this? I fill prompts with lots of potential for dark stuff and porn and I just...don't write the porn. ??? I don't understand myself either.


	16. Coda With a Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes back to the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm back! The depression has subsided a little, exams are over, so we're back to the regularly updating schedule for a while.

That evening, at the club, Sherlock was slightly more covered up than before, if only a little. Over a simple pair of black boxer briefs, soft grey ropes criss-crossed his body, intricately twined around him in a way that didn’t restrict his movement. The ropes were a suggestion- the plan was to subtly encourage Davis to use them on him, so that Sherlock could observe him, and possibly use it as a way to bring Farley into the conversation. Getting them on had been tricky, especially the bits at the back, and several times Sherlock had been tempted to call for John’s help. Each time he reminded himself that John wanted nothing to do with this plan. If he pushed it, perhaps John would also want nothing to do with him. That was an unacceptable possibility. In any case, he’d managed it with some difficulty, by dint of his flexibility, manual dexterity, and long fingers. All that was left now was to wait for Davis to find him. He’d seen him just now, but he’d chosen not to approach him. A man like Davis preferred to the seeking out, to be the predator to Sherlock’s willing prey. Sherlock situated himself somewhere visible, and let Davis come to him.

He didn’t have to wait long. Soon enough, he felt a presence behind him, and a warm hand settling on his waist. Sherlock jerked slightly, feigning surprise, and turned, eyes flicking over Davis’ face before dropping, the show of subservience masking the triumphant gleam in his eyes. 

“Still...investigating?” Davis smirked. “I suppose the last time you were a little distracted…”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, no investigation.” He murmured. “I just had a free evening.”

“Not for long.” Davis asserted boldy. “In fact, I think you’ll be quite tied up in a moment.” He flashed a grin.

Sherlock forced a smile. “I’d like that...sir.” 

Davis smiled approvingly. “Come along, then.” 

He hooked his fingers through a length of rope that lay taut across Sherlock’s abdomen, tugging sharply as he began walking. Unprepared, Sherlock stumbled off the barstool he was seated on, nearly toppling it, but he untangled his legs from it and got to his feet in time, luckily enough. John would have a lot to say if he returned home with a broken ankle. 

He wasn’t allowed much time to dwell on John’s potential reaction to him sustaining a serious injury. Davis kept walking, not looking back at Sherlock as he continued to tug him forwards. Sherlock got the feeling he’d quite happily drag Sherlock across the floor to get his point through. ‘You’re an object,’ was the point. ‘You don’t matter, and I’m just taking you where I want you to be.’ Sherlock swallowed as he felt arousal flush through him at the thought. Collecting himself, he walked a little faster, carefully keeping pace with the Dominant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I finally write the porn next chapter? Who even knows tbh


	17. Chasing a Familiar Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets tied up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finally writing the porn. Clap for me y'all

The club had several private rooms available for guests. On the ground floor, there were a few with observation decks, but most of them were upstairs, and completely private. This early in the night, it was almost guaranteed that there would be a few free. Any with the key still hanging in the lock were free for anyone to use. Each was kitted out with anything one might need for a scene, save for some more bulky items, which could be found in a storeroom. 

Davis picked a room at random and pulled Sherlock in, kicking him to his knees before shutting and locking the door. He turned, smiling almost genially at Sherlock. 

“I like what you did with this.” He ran his finger along the line of rope crossing Sherlock’s shoulder. “Did you do it yourself?”

“Yes.” Sherlock murmured.

“What was that?” Davis said sharply.

“Yes, sir.” Sherlock corrected himself.

“It’s quite well done.” Davis continued, pausing for a moment.

Sherlock picked up easily on what he wanted. “Thank you, sir.” he said dutifully.

“Not what I want for tonight, though.” Davis mused. “Stand up. Arms up.” He commanded.

Sherlock got gracefully to his feet and stretched his arms out to his sides, a flicker satisfaction running through him at how easily Davis fell to doing exactly what he wanted. Quickly and methodically, Davis undid the ropes binding Sherlock before taking a folding knife from his pocket and slicing quickly through Sherlock’s boxers, tossing them to one side. Sherlock eyed the little pile of cloth with a mixture of sorrow and arousal. One the one hand, he’d quite liked those pants. Yet that in itself showed the sheer lack of care Davis held for him. It wasn’t just for show. The man hadn’t even bothered to ask because he truly did not care. 

Sherlock gasped as he was jerked out of his musings by a sharp stinging pain, as Davis pressed his fingers against the outside of Sherlock’s thigh. Glancing down, he saw a long, thin scratch running down his thigh where Davis had been careless with the knife. Or, possibly, he had been quite deliberate. Sherlock watched as a bead of blood welled up, and thought absently of possible infections. He’d have to clean that when he got home. 

Taking the coil of rope, Davis retied it around Sherlock, pulling it much tighter than Sherlock had. From the way it was digging into his skin, Sherlock knew that there would be marks in the morning. Perhaps they would even bruise. Sherlock shivered at the thought. He looked down at his chest, which was still littered with the yellowing marks from a few nights ago. 

Davis worked swiftly and steadily, but even so, Sherlock’s arms quickly grew tired.

“May I put my arms down, sir?” He asked.

Davis didn’t even look up at him. “No.” He said flatly. 

He continued looping the rope around Sherlock, tugging it tighter. Sherlock’s arms trembled, but he kept them held in place.


	18. Don't Mess Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hangs around.

The ropes binding Sherlock’s body finished at the back. Davis left a little tail at the back, going over to the cupboard to get more rope. Returning to Sherlock, he took his arms, twisting them around to fold behind his back. Sherlock’s face contorted as he let out a pained groan, his arms cramping as the blood suddenly flowed back into them. 

“Quiet.” Davis said sharply, not liking the distraction. 

He tied Sherlock’s arms the same way, restrictively tight, with careful, intricate knots, again leaving two tails, this time much longer. Then he tugged Sherlock over to where he wanted him. 

“Lie down. Face down.” He instructed. 

Sherlock lowered himself to his knees, then paused. Without his arms, or other way to slow his fall, simply lying down would certainly do him some serious damage. Hesitantly, he lowered his torso so his arse was in the air, then shimmied until he was lying flat against the cold floor. Davis crouched down, patting Sherlock’s rump approvingly. Taking the two rope ends extending from Sherlock’s tied forearms, he tied one around each of Sherlock’s ankles. 

Finally satisfied, he went over to the side of the room, messing about with a little pulley system. 

“I haven’t yet had the opportunity to play with this. So this will be a fun little experiment.” He remarked.

Several carabiners attached to ropes descended from the ceiling, and Davis tugged them down, attaching them to loops he’d left at Sherlock’s shoulders, ankles, and lower back. Going back to the pulley system, he slowly hoisted Sherlock into the air.

Sherlock struggled slightly when he found himself in the air, base adrenaline flooding through him at the loss of solid ground beneath him. Bound tight as he was, though, he could do little more than wriggle ineffectually. Davis returned now, his hips roughly level with Sherlock’s body. He fussed a little with the ropes, then stepped back, taking his phone out and snapping a few pictures. Upon hearing the sound of the camera shutter, Sherlock’s head shot up in alarm, but Davis just laughed. 

“Relax. None of your face. It’s for my blog.” He reassured the sub.

He showed Sherlock the pictures, artistically framed shots of his bound body. Sherlock deflated slightly, nodding defeatedly. Davis flashed him a brief smile, then turned, looking around for something. Spotting Sherlock’s ruined boxers on the ground, he picked them up, and turning back to Sherlock, folded and then tied them around his head in a makeshift blindfold. The flap of the crotch hung down over Sherlock’s nose, the scent of his own genitals invading his sense. Thus blinded, he hung there, unable to do much else as Davis went back to the cupboard, looking through it for more possible things to use on Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like you all to know that I nearly slammed my face into the wood flooring of my bedroom, and really did slam my face into my bed in the process of writing this chapter. My jaw hurts, and so does my neck. You're all welcome.


	19. Hooked On a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is put in an uncomfortable position and enjoys it quite a bit.

Sherlock let his head hang down, letting himself float on the odd sensation of hanging suspended in the air as Davis moved back and forth, his measured footsteps a soothing background current noise in his flowing river of sensation. 

His head jerked up when he felt a sharp pain on his nipples, first the left, and then the right. Nipple clamps. Of course. He breathed slowly as his body acclimated, the pain receding into a dull throb. A tug came again as Davis added weight, making the clamps a constant, painful pulling. A whine wormed its way up Sherlock’s throat, but he swallowed it, remembering the Dominant’s order to remain silent.

Davis stroked a hand through Sherlock’s curls. “No, no, make all the noise you want now.”

Sherlock leaned eagerly into Davis’ hand, making a soft, pleased sound. The touch immediately changed from gentle to harsh, Davis yanking Sherlock’s head back with a fistful of hair. Sherlock whimpered softly, feeling several of the strands part from his scalp. 

“I’m not here to coddle you.” Davis said flatly. “If that’s what you wanted, you came to the wrong person.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” Sherlock gasped.

Davis let Sherlock go. “Good.”

Sherlock didn’t have much time to relax. Something was attached to the back of his blindfold, and then his head was forced back, his mouth falling open to compensate for his narrowed airway. Then he felt something cool and round pushed against his hole. It pressed in slowly until he felt it curve in a ‘U’ shape up his back. A hook, he realised. It was attached to his head, so if he moved his head forward even a little, the hook would tug on the wall of his hole. He imagined what he would look like, hung up and on a hook like a piece of meat. He moaned at the image that produced, his cock painfully hard between his legs. 

Davis had moved around to his front, cupping Sherlock’s cheek. With his other hand, he put two fingers into Sherlock’s open mouth. Sherlock automatically closed his mouth around them, mindlessly licking and suckling at them with enthusiasm. 

Davis laughed. “Such a good slut. Here, since you seem to know what to do.”

Sherlock heard him unzip his trousers, and then a hard cock was being pushed past his lips. He wasn’t given much opportunity to do anything, though, as Davis began to thrust roughly, one hand holding on to Sherlock’s throat to hold him steady as he pumped in and out of Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock gasped for breath between thrusts, each short reprieve barely enough before the cock filled his airway completely yet again. His own cock only seemed to grow harder as he began to feel lightheaded, lights flashing behind his eyes as his body rapidly ran out of the oxygen needed to keep him conscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually quite proud of this chapter. It Hot.


	20. Those Days Are Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis gets an 'F' for aftercare. 'F' stands for 'Fucking didn't do any'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter for you guys ayy. I'd like to mention, yet again. THIS IS VERY NOT SAFE THINGS. DO NOT TRY AT HOME. Or in a BDSM club. Or anywhere.

Just before Sherlock would have passed out, Davis pulled out, stroking his cock roughly, his other hand still firm around Sherlock’s throat. He quickly came in thick, warm spurts, his come coating Sherlock’s lips and landing on his tongue, hot and bitter. Sherlock curled his tongue to keep it in, but didn’t swallow, too out of it by then to even consider doing anything without permission. Davis put two fingers beneath his jaw, shutting his mouth, and Sherlock swallowed automatically, his mouth falling open again as though begging for more. Davis laughed, smearing the come on Sherlock’s lower lip with his thumb.

“You’re an eager slut. Experienced, too. Do this often?” He asked, his tone conversational yet mocking.

Finding words felt like he was fishing around for them in thick mud. Sherlock licked his lips before replying. “Not in a while.” He said, his voice rough from the brutal throat fucking he had received. 

“But you couldn’t stay away.” Davis finished. “You couldn’t deny what you really are.”

Sherlock flushed. “No, sir.”

Davis was running his hands over Sherlock’s bound body, stroking his bare thighs. “Slut like you must have had many men, haven’t you?” He mused.

“Yes, sir.” Sherlock murmured.

“How many?” Davis asked.

Sherlock flushed deeper and kept silent, unwilling to admit that he actually couldn’t remember. Davis laughed mockingly, understanding what Sherlock meant by his silence. 

“Alright then, you whore.” Sherlock felt felt the touch of a crop against his inner thigh. “Your favourite. Twenty hits. Count them. If you’re good, I’ll let you come.”

Davis didn’t bother starting slow. He hit hard and fast, slowing down only long enough let Sherlock gasp out the next number. Sherlock moaned and writhed at each hit, his movements causing both the hook in his arse and the weighted clamps on his nipples to tug painfully. 

At nineteen, Davis stopped, and Sherlock caught his breath, his body thrumming with anticipation. The final, stinging blow landed hard directly on his perineum, and Sherlock screamed, his body bucking involuntarily, shuddering and swaying as he came from the combination of all the painful, pleasurable stimulus. 

Davis raised an eyebrow, though Sherlock couldn’t see it, stroking his fingertips over Sherlock’s overly sensitive cock. Sherlock jerked, whining. 

“I suppose you were good, up to the part where you came without permission.” Davis mused.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to.” 

“Admittedly, it’s quite hot that you’re such a painslut you can’t control yourself. So I’ll let you off the hook.” He paused, and laughed at his own pun. “Next time, though, I won’t be so forgiving.”

“Thank you sir.” 

Sherlock’s head was tugged further back, and then he felt the hook slide out of him, laying warm and slimy with lube against his lower back. Sherlock let his head fall forwards, taking in big gulps of much needed air. The clamps were the next to come off, the pain in his nipples flaring and throbbing as the blood rushed back. He was lowered to the ground, and he barely had the presence of mind to turn his head to prevent his face from slamming into the ground. Davis quickly and efficiently untied him, leaving him on the ground to catch his breath and recollect himself while he cleaned and put away the tools they had used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, let's play a game called pick out all the unsafe things that happened over the last few chapters. For each one you find, you win the knowledge that you should Not Do Those Things.


	21. If You Can Still Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock performs a subtle interrogation.

Once he’d caught his breath, Sherlock forcibly dragged himself back into something resembling a normal headspace, reminding himself that he had work to do. He managed to get himself into a sitting position, ignoring his protesting muscles and sore arse. 

“Do you know a Robert Farley?” He asked, careful to keep his tone light, projecting a casual sort of interest. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he had to force it past a sore, rubbed raw throat. 

Davis cocked his head at him. Now that the scene was over, he’d retreated into a sort of professional distance, with an almost collegial politeness. It gave Sherlock an odd, dirty feeling, especially when he thought about the fact that he was still completely naked. 

“Yeah, I do. Why?” Davis responded.

Sherlock looked down, tracing the imprint of rope on his forearm with a finger. “I recognised a bit of that ropework.”

Davis laughed. “Very like you, deducing in the middle of a scene. Yes, Robert’s the one who taught me all of this. I was his protégé, in a sense.”

Sherlock nodded seriously. “I knew him...quite well, a long time ago.” He shifted slightly, feigning shyness. “I thought we could...reconnect, but when I went over it seemed like he hadn’t been home in a few days. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“Well, I don’t know for certain if he’ll be there, but I know that he’s got a house out in the country. He’s got a sort of school, though it’s not running now, so I’m not sure he’ll be there. I can give you the address though, or maybe his email?”

Sherlock directed at Davis a huge, fake, grateful look. “His address would be good.” He gave a tiny smile. “I thought it might be nice to surprise him…”

Davis fished a business card and a pen out of his back pocket, scribbling an address on it. “Here. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

Sherlock took the card. “Thank you.” He murmured.

Davis stuck his hands in his pocket. “Well, Sherlock. This was...nice. I’ll...see you around.” 

He turned and left quickly, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock picked himself up with a groan, grabbing the coil of grey rope that he’d brought with him. His first few steps were unsteady, his legs still buzzing with pins and needles from being elevated. His arms protested at every move, as did his arse and neck. He didn’t even want to think about putting his wool coat on over his sensitised nipples. He didn’t think he had any chance of hiding how bad it was from John when he got home. He frowned unhappily, but made his way through the club to get himself home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's back to real life for Sherlock. Wonder how that'll go down.


	22. We Pick Ourselves Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns home.

Out on Baker Street outside his front door, Sherlock glanced up, noticing that the lights were on in the living room. John was still up, then. Or he’d fallen asleep on the sofa and forgotten to turn off the light. Sherlock stepped carefully up the stairs, swinging the door open slightly. John was indeed still up, and he glanced up from his book when Sherlock entered, looking him over with a eye that was, though not quite as all-seeing as Sherlock’s own, still more observant than Sherlock liked in that moment. He shifted slightly on his feet. 

“I got a lead on the case.” He offered. “Farley’s got a house in the country.”

He cringed slightly when he remembered how awful his voice still sounded. He took the card Davis had given him, holding it out like a peace offering. John cocked his head, continuing to regard him with the same cool, assessing gaze. 

“I know.” He said, without inflection.

Sherlock’s brow crinkled. “You know?”

“Mm.” John glanced over to the desk. “I only had to read his emails.” He got up, advancing on Sherlock. “So you see, _that_ was entirely unnecessary.” 

He made a gesture that managed to encompass the card, Sherlock’s entire person, and everything that he had just done. Sherlock shrank in on himself, still too exhausted from the scene to be anywhere near mentally ready for the fight John seemed to be spoiling for. John seemed to pick up on this, deflating slightly, his expression turning from anger to worry. 

“Go have a shower, then I want to look you over.” His tone was gentle, but firm. 

Sherlock nodded, stepping around John and hurrying to the bathroom. He took his time with the shower, not particularly eager to face John again. Shame welled in the pit of his stomach as he forced himself to acknowledge that John was right. It hadn’t been necessary. He’d known it, really, though he hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time. He’d just wanted the excuse to go back. It was pathetic, really, that he couldn’t stay away, and neither could he be honest with himself about it. He scrubbed more vigorously at his abraded skin, as though he could somehow wash away his own weakness. 

After his shower, Sherlock dried himself off. He didn’t bother putting on anything other than a pair of pants. John would certainly insist on looking over every bit of him, anyway. He shivered, just from the thought of John’s eyes on him. He remembered the crop marks littering his inner thighs, pictured John between his legs, looking at them with his intent, doctorly eyes, _touching_ him. His cock twitched, and he whimpered, grinding the heel of his palm hard into his groin. 

Regaining control of himself, he stepped out into the kitchen, catching John’s eye and giving him a small nod. John stood, his eyes trailing down to Sherlock’s body and widening when he saw the extent of the marks that had been left on Sherlock. His mouth set into a grim line, and he disappeared into the bathroom to fetch their medical kit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so worried for my son. Is that weird? Because I'm the author and I'm supposed to know that it turns out okay for him. But!!! I'm so worried for him he's not okay and I love him so much


	23. Lights Will Guide You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes care of Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but we've gone back to a more sporadic posting schedule. I'll write when I can, of course, but I'll be going to Indonesia on Tuesday and after that, school begins again. And I'm sure we all know what a nightmare that is.

Sherlock screwed his eyes tight, breathing slowly and evenly, willing himself to remain calm as John meticulously cleaned and applied soothing paste to every injury he could find on Sherlock, both old and new. His face held none of the earlier frustrated anger, instead projecting only careful concern and worry. He glanced up at Sherlock, his brow creasing when he caught sight of Sherlock’s expression, mistaking it for one of pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m being as gentle as I can.” He murmured.

Sherlock opened his eyes, shutting them again when he was immediately presented with John’s own eyes, and his soft, probing gaze. It felt like a lance through his chest, for two reasons. The first was that he knew he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that look. He’d brought this upon himself, had even enjoyed it. Sherlock felt filthy, even after his very thorough shower. He thought about Davis’ come inside of him, sliding its way through his digestive system, being absorbed by his body, and shuddered. The second reason was that, even knowing he didn’t deserve it, he wished so much that the look he saw in John’s eyes _meant_ something. It didn’t, of course. John was just being a good doctor, a good flatmate, a good friend. He probably looked at all of his patients that way. 

“Sherlock?” John asked, the worry in his eyes increasing when his friend didn’t respond. “Are you all right?”

Sherlock tipped his chin down in a quick nod. “I’m fine, John.” He croaked out.

John bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from telling Sherlock that no, he clearly wasn’t. Instead, he sighed softly, and took one of Sherlock’s feet onto his lap, carefully swabbing his ankles with alcohol where a fair bit of chafing had occurred. 

The last thing he did was to rebandage the still fresh wound on Sherlock’s abdomen, thankful that whatever it was he’d been up to that evening, it didn’t seem to have worsened that injury. Once done, he stood, looking over his handiwork. 

“Alright? Anything else that I missed?” He asked Sherlock.

Sherlock stood, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness that had settled back in. “No, John. Thank you.”

John watched the movement with a practised eye. “Your shoulder hurts.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Just a little stiffness. I’ll sleep it off.”

John eyed the bruises rope had left along Sherlock’s arms. He could imagine how Sherlock had gotten that stiffness.

“It’ll be worse in the morning if you just leave it.” He said decisively. “Go lie down, I’ll give you a massage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing this fic, but often it's an uphill struggle, finding the right words, wrangling the plot, the characters, the word count. This chapter, though, flowed out beautifully. Didn't take even an hour. Practically wrote itself. These are the moments I live for, as a writer. It just feels so good.


	24. If I'm Gonna Make it Through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock lets John take care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this chapter, but this has been my first chance to post in a while, so I'm going to just post it. But hey, at least it's a little longer than usual! Hope it's okay.

Sherlock lay on his front, resting his forehead on his folded arms, his face mashed into the bedspread. Lying there, listening to John moving around in the adjacent bathroom, Sherlock experienced the odd realisation that he felt more vulnerable in this moment than in any other moment that evening, even when he’d been tied up and humiliated, unable to move. 

He heard John come in, bringing with him the camphor-like smell of lavender. There was a brief pause, the shuffling sound of John toeing off his shoes, and then the bed shifted and dipped beneath Sherlock as John sat down beside him. 

Seconds later, Sherlock felt John’s warm hands on him, his palms and fingers thinly coated with oil. Involuntarily, he stiffened, drawing a sharp breath at the touch. The sensation immediately disappeared as John took his hands away. 

“Sherlock?” John said gently. “Is this alright? I’m sorry I forgot to ask just now.”

Sherlock turned his head until he could see the moving figure of John in the corner of his vision. “It’s fine.” He murmured.

John nodded, and Sherlock shut his eyes again. A few moments later, John’s touch returned. Sherlock carefully didn’t move a muscle, his breathing remaining even, although it felt like there was an electric current running up his spine. 

John’s hands first swept up and down his back with steady, firm pressure, before he began to knead at the sore muscles with his thumb, slowly working out the knots. At first, Sherlock felt hypersensitive, his nerves lighting up everywhere John touched him. Slowly, he managed to relax, allowing himself to be settled by John’s steady touch. 

A while later, John got up, giving one last, comforting stroke to Sherlock’s back. “Try to get some sleep tonight, Sherlock. Rest up.”

Sherlock, startled by the sudden change, feeling every instinct in him telling him not to let John go, jerked upright. The sudden movement tugged at his still-healing wound, and one hand came up to press against them as he winced, reaching out to grab John’s wrist with his other hand. John quickly got back on the bed, reaching out a hand to steady Sherlock.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” He murmured. “Lie down.” He guided Sherlock into a prone position. “Did you reopen your wound?”

Sherlock shook his head, gazing up at John. He felt odd, not quite himself. His mind moved sluggishly, but he felt strangely comfortable with the slowed pace, like his entire brain had been wrapped in a thick, fluffy blanket. He realised after a moment that he still had a hand wrapped around John’s wrist. 

“Can you stay with me?” Sherlock looked up at John with wide eyes. He would never have asked this under normal circumstances, but at the moment, he could barely think over the overwhelming need for John’s presence.

John’s face was schooled carefully into a neutral expression. Sherlock felt too tired to deduce what he was thinking. For once, when John nodded, he chose to just take the interaction at face value. Once he’d gained the tacit permission, he tugged John close to him, tucking his face into John’s chest. John shifted beneath him, getting into a comfortable position, and then put his arm around Sherlock, his hand resting lightly on Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock closed his eyes, surrendering to the comforting smell of lavender and the steady, if slightly elevated pounding of John’s heart.


	25. Back to Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a slight edit to the last chapter- I wrote that Sherlock had stitches, when actually, he didn't, so that's fixed. Welp. In my defense, it's been a while, and I was tired. So sorry if I caused any confusion.

Sherlock dropped off quickly, much to John’s relief and consternation. On the one hand, Sherlock clearly needed the sleep. On the other hand, Sherlock needed the sleep so much, he was sleeping on a case. He never did that. It was worrying to say the least. What had Davis done with him to tire him out so much? Well, John had some idea, from the marks that the man had liberally left on Sherlock’s body. He didn’t like to think about it. It had been a struggle to keep his jealous, protective anger from showing on his face. Now, with Sherlock asleep in his arms, he allowed himself to indulge a little, reaching a hand up to card a hand gently through Sherlock’s hair. It was dark in the room, but John could just make out the shape of Sherlock’s face, with all its sharp planes and unusual angles. His memory filled in the details he couldn’t see, his dark lashes against his pale face, the perfect curve of his lips. It was fortunate, John thought, that Sherlock’s face had been left unmarked. He didn’t know what he’d have done if it hadn’t.

Sighing, John feathered a kiss across Sherlock’s brow, and attempted to untangle himself from Sherlock’s clutches. His movements roused Sherlock a little from his light sleep, and he unconsciously let out a grumbly whine, pressing his head harder against John’s ribs. 

“John?” Sherlock muttered, still mostly asleep.

John stilled, laying back down. “No, no, go back to sleep, Sherlock.” He told him. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled back down, making a snuffling sound as he rearranged his limbs to more securely entrap John. John, for his part, was altogether willing. He put his arm back around Sherlock, allowing his head to fall back against the pillow. His hands resumed petting Sherlock, almost automatically. Sherlock let out a sleepy hum of approval. It took him a while, but eventually John too fell asleep.

*****

John was awakened early the next morning by Sherlock, back to his usual manic self. Already fully dressed, he shook John awake, pressing a mug of oversteeped tea into his hands and dumping fresh clothing into his lap. John was still in Sherlock’s bed. Sherlock seemed supremely disinclined to discuss the reason John was even there in the first place.

“Come, John, up!” He commanded, with his usual imperious energy. “We have a train to catch.”

John automatically sipped at the tea, and winced. Sherlock always scalded tea horribly, a result of his natural impatience. He scrubbed at his eyes, blinking up at Sherlock. “Do I have time to make another cup of tea?”

Sherlock didn’t seem to register the insult to his tea-making skills. “You may.” He said generously. “You may also take a shower, if you like. But not a bath.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” John said drily. “Do I get to shave, too?”

“Fine.” Sherlock said, as though it was a great concession. “But make it quick. We have forty-five minutes to make it to the station.”

John set the mug on Sherlock’s bedside table and grabbed his clothes, heading for the shower. Back to work, then.


	26. This Is How I'm Supposed to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock confronts Farley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised Farley seems kinda Moriarty-ish. Huh. Oops. Also, trigger warning for semi-graphic description of murder.

Robert Farley had been aware of the lock on the door being picked for the last minute, but when the door opened he plastered on an expression of surprise, lowering his newspaper. 

“Sherlock! Finally found me, I see. I have to admit, you took longer than I expected. Not like I was really hiding.” He said genially.

“I had better things to do.” Sherlock said, but Farley had known him long before he learned to grow a decent mask, could read the truth in the set of his shoulders and the way his eyes shifted from place to place, never settling for longer than a moment.

Farley stood, approaching him, his movements gracefully predatory. “Where’s your friend, then? Did he ditch you? Or was it the other way round?”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, I told him to watch the house, give us a few minutes to catch up. He’ll be along in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes.” Farley mused. “Not enough time for anything really interesting, pity.”

Sherlock shot him a contemptuous look. “How unimaginative of you. I could think of several possibilities.”

“Oh, really? Care to share?” Farley grinned.

“Not with you.” Sherlock said, voice flat. He glanced around the room. “You wanted me to find you. Why?”

Farley shrugged. “Maybe I missed you.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “So much so that you’re willing to go to prison?”

“Prison sounds like an adventure, don’t you think?” Farley licked his lips. “Maybe I just wanted a change of pace.”

Sherlock stared at Farley in alarm. “You’re nuts.”

“No more than you, sweetheart.” Farley sing-songed. “You know what I mean. You get it too. The crushing boredom. Pressing on you, suffocating you, so you’d do anything to relieve it, for just a moment. Once an addict, always an addict.”

“Your...hobby worked fine for you. What changed?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“You, of course!” Farley said cheerfully.

Sherlock frowned deeper. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Farley agreed. “Saw you in the news, all proper and stuff. Didn’t seem like anyone even suspected you could be anything other than the posh, clever detective. I wanted to see if you still remembered me.”

“So you killed a man.” Sherlock didn’t even bother disguising his anger. Farley didn’t seem to mind. 

“Mm, it was quite fun. Listening to his cries, feeling his body struggle and grow limp beneath me. In fact, I think I’m up for a second round.”

At his words, Sherlock snapped to attention, a second too late. Farley got his feet out from under him. From there, it was the work of a moment. Farley had several inches and about fifty pounds on Sherlock. He pinned the injured detective beneath his bulk, his large hands wrapping around Sherlock’s throat.

“Ten minutes, did you say? That gives me about six minutes left. More than enough time, don’t you think?” Farley leaned forward, his breath hot against Sherlock’s ear, his erection digging into Sherlock’s backside. 

“John.” Sherlock gasped weakly. “John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet again, we end the chapter with Sherlock getting choked by a crazy Dom. Huh.


	27. Spilling Like an Overflowing Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John saves the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler-y trigger warning, see end notes.

A minute stretched into eternity, Sherlock struggling for breath as he waited for John to come. John would come, Sherlock was sure of it. Sure enough, little more than a minute later, John opened the door, having waited precisely five minutes, as Sherlock had instructed. He took barely a second to size up the situation before acting, his face clouded with protective anger.

Sherlock watched John through watering eyes. Farley was still behind him, on top of him, seemingly not have noticed John coming in. John lifted his gun, and there was a loud gunshot. Sherlock flinched instinctively, and then he felt Farley go slack on top of him, his fingers loosening their grip around his neck, his still-warm blood dripping onto the back of Sherlock's neck. Without his assailant forcing his head back, he flopped onto the ground, struggling to draw breaths, the bulk of the other man’s body pinning him to the floor. John tucked his gun back into his waistband, hurrying over to Sherlock. He rolled the dead weight off Sherlock, helping him to sit up, his hands warm and steady against Sherlock’s back. 

When he sat up, Sherlock realised that he was half-hard in his trousers. He quickly tucked his knees to his chest, trying to hide it. When had that happened? He tried to recall, but his memory was a fuzzy haze. Had it been when Farley had been choking him and rutting against him? Or when he’d died on top of him? Or had it been the sight of John, standing in the doorway, backlit by the rising sun, gun in hand, looking like some sort of avenging angel? If he was honest with himself, it could have been any of these things. Wasn’t that just fucked up.

John, misinterpreting his position as a sign of distress, crouched beside him, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words. Sherlock found himself relaxing against John, his breaths slowly evening out. Perhaps John hadn’t misinterpreted as much as Sherlock thought.

John helped Sherlock to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Is there a bathroom here?”

Sherlock knew that speaking would hurt before he even opened his mouth, but stubbornly, he ground the words out. “It’s upstairs.”

John winced at the sound. “Alright, no need to talk. Come on.” He steered Sherlock towards the stairs. Sherlock noted absently that John managed to keep Farley’s body out of his line of sight the entire time.

John cleaned Sherlock up, as best he could, though some of the blood couldn’t quite be worked out of his hair. 

“Do you want to shower?” John had asked. 

Sherlock had grimaced and shaken his head in response. “Not here.”

He wasn’t usually sentimental about this sort of thing, but he’d found he couldn’t stand the thought of being naked inside this man’s house. So they’d gone and checked into a hotel just to use the facilities, even though they actually had tickets for the five o’clock train back to London. 

After Sherlock’s shower, John found himself tending to Sherlock’s wounds for the fourth time in as many days. His face was one of grim concentration, barely looking up at Sherlock.

“John. Are you angry with me?” Sherlock asked.

John looked up at that. He sighed. “No, Sherlock. I’m not. I’m just- I’m glad this is all over.”

“Yeah.” Sherlock agreed softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for on-screen character death.


	28. Hear it Closing in Around You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are never over the first time you think they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me the entire way. I hope it's alright.

For a period of time, there was a peaceful sort of lull in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was, if not satisfied by their latest case, at the very least exhausted enough that he allowed John to feed and tend to him for a few days, making tea and imposing bedtimes. John worried for a while about what was going to happen, considering they’d left a dead body behind in the country, before Sherlock assured him that Mycroft had already taken care of it. It was moments like those when John was suddenly struck by just how dangerously powerful Mycroft was. It wasn’t something he tended to think on much, for the sake of his sanity.

However, Sherlock being Sherlock, this state naturally did not last very long. He soon got back to bugging Lestrade for cases, and Lestrade dutifully provided, calling them out to another crime scene. This one wrapped up quickly, and without injury to anyone not a murderer, much to John’s relief, and he somehow managed to convince Sherlock to actually make the trip down to the station to give Lestrade their statements. Sherlock went first, recounting the deductions he’d made and how they’d caught the murderer in detail, as Lestrade frantically tried to note everything down.

John went next. Sherlock stood up, not wanting to be around to hear the same thing told over again. 

“Toilet.” He’d said, in brief explanation. John had nodded and waved him off.

John never liked giving statements. He’d used to protest that he never _did_ anything, so there wasn’t much point, but it was standard procedure, Lestrade always said, so he’d given up arguing. In any case, he had actually done something this time around.

_Sherlock rolled his eyes, the picture of frustrated boredom, though John could see the spark in his eyes that belied the truth._

_“Lestrade, you simpleton, this is barely a four.” Sherlock scoffed. “The murderer is even still in this room.”_

_With a casual flourish, he hooked his hand under a shelf of the bookcase, jerking up. The entire bookcase swung forwards._

_“That is the most cliche thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” John muttered to Lestrade._

_A second later, he sprang forwards, having had to wrestle the (fortunately rather small and weak from hunger) murderer to the ground. Sherlock, the idiot, had been looking at John, glowing his pride, rather than turning to to where he_ knew the murderer was _. Sometimes, John wondered what went on in that man’s mind._

Meanwhile, while Sherlock was in the toilet, he was joined by someone he’d been hoping not to see. The other man made his presence known by coming up close behind Sherlock while he was at the urinal, his hand sliding across Sherlock’s clothed arse.

“I must say, I think you looked much better with less on.” Davis murmured into Sherlock’s ear.


	29. Hold Your Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John worries, and not without reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt messy and just. No good. I'm sorry.

John was done with his statement by the time Sherlock returned to Lestrade’s office.

“Sherlock, finally. Where did you go?” John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I didn’t feel like listening to your overly elaborate storytelling. I went for coffee.”

“Could’ve got some for me.” John said, fondly exasperated. He turned to Greg. “Okay, that’s all, yeah? Bye.”

*****

John didn’t pick up on it then, but he soon did, the very next night, in fact. Like the previous week, though this time they weren’t on a case, Sherlock disappeared early into the bathroom, and emerged nearly an hour later, made up and mostly naked under his coat. John’s head jerked up from his dinner of leftovers when he saw him.

“You’re going back?” He asked Sherlock. 

Sherlock lifted his chin. “Yes.” He said flatly.

John’s lower lip twisted into a worried frown. “Okay. See you later.”

“I’ll be fine, John.” Sherlock reassured him.

John nodded, though he knew it wasn’t true. He was prepared when Sherlock staggered home in the early morning, clearly exhausted. He didn’t seem badly injured, for which John was grateful, but nevertheless, he wasn’t fine. 

John as before, tended to Sherlock, dabbing antibiotic ointment on chafing on his wrists, which were fortunately the only injuries Sherlock had sustained. His friend was also rather dehydrated, for some reason, and so John got him to slowly drink several cups of water before going to bed.

John didn’t get much sleep that night, too worried about Sherlock. He’d been doing research, had read many informative blogs by people in the BDSM community. He knew that many people seemed to manage a safe BDSM lifestyle, but John still thought that the way Sherlock was going about it just didn’t seem sustainable. He didn’t know what to do about it, though.

Things continued for a while, Sherlock going off in the evenings to meet god-knows-whom, presumably in clubs, and returned late at night. Each time, John was there, ready to patch him up and make sure he was he was alright. Or, as alright as he could be at any rate, given the circumstances. The care he provided varied, from medical care to tea. Sherlock seemed to get steadily more exhausted, and it showed in small ways, drifting off mid sentence, being more irritable than usual. Things finally came to a head one night, about a month later.

Sherlock was later than usual, and John was just starting to get worried when Sherlock came in. He made a beeline for the sofa where John was sitting, and immediately collapsed against him, folding into John’s lap. John’s arms immediately came up around him, and he glanced down at his friend. He couldn’t see much. Sherlock’s shoulders were shaking, and John could feel his collar rapidly dampening where Sherlock had tucked his face in the crook of John’s neck.


	30. Carve Your Heart Into Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis goes too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent half an hour googling random London addresses and trying to figure out whether they were a) residences and b) a logical place for a single police officer to live. I didn't really get anywhere, so if Davis' house is actually a bakery or something...I've decided not to care. Also, spoiler-y trigger warnings for this chapter in the end notes.
> 
> Bit of a longer chapter for you guys (like twice as long lmao). I was excited to get it out and see what you think of it :^) Also, added to the list of dumb this I have done for the sake of fic- accidentally scratched myself with the blunt end of a knife.

Davis had done something different, that night. He’d texted Sherlock before he left the house with a change of plans from their usual unspoken agreement to meet at the club. 

_90 Guild Road. 7pm. Don’t be late._

Sherlock didn’t have Davis’ number saved, but it was obvious who it was anyway. No one else spoke to him like that, after all. The sudden change piqued his interest, and he quickly finished getting ready and left for the address Davis had sent him.

The address turned out to be Davis’ home. “The club is nice, but there’s no place like home.” Davis had explained as he was strapping Sherlock to a table, chatty as ever. “For one, it’s well kitted out, but it doesn’t have everything.” He patted the table to illustrate his point. “And a club is a little...impersonal. Not really the place for a serious relationship chat.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed at this. They did not, as far as he was aware, have a ‘serious relationship’, and he was happy to keep it that way, though he couldn’t voice his protests through the ball gag in his mouth. Davis took out his knife, lazily drawing patterns on Sherlock’s chest with the blunt side as he spoke. He pressed down hard enough enough to leave white lines in its wake, clearly visible against Sherlock’s flushed chest. Though it didn’t really hurt all that much, the danger of it had Sherlock fully aroused. To tell the truth, Sherlock didn’t trust Davis not to turn the knife around. It said a lot about him that this only served to excite him further. 

“I was thinking about John Watson.” Davis murmured. 

That brought Sherlock back to the present. His eyes snapped to Davis’ face, scanning him, trying to figure out what he was going to say next. 

“You run back to him when I’m done with you, so he can patch you up, make it all better.” Davis mused.

Sherlock watched him, not bothering to deny it, waiting to see where he was going with this. In truth, he was rather curious to find out what he was getting at. He was also mildly impressed with the deduction, though admittedly, Davis _was_ a detective for a reason. 

“I’m fine with that. I haven’t any interest in doing that for you.” Davis smiled, cold and shark-like. “It’d be nice wouldn’t it, if he could do _this_ for you.” 

He pressed down harder on the on the knife, leaning his weight into it a little until it became a bright, flaring point of pain. Sherlock’s gasp was muffled through the gag, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. 

“He can’t, though.” Davis smirked at him, as though he could see how much that statement cut into Sherlock, more painful than the knife against his skin. “Or he won’t, which is the same thing, really. He doesn’t want to.”

Sherlock looked away from Davis, staring up at the ceiling, trying to keep his composure. His concentration was shattered by Davis’ next words.

“Which is why, no matter how much you love him, he’ll never own you the way I do.” 

With a vicious grin, Davis turned the knife around, carving a line on Sherlock’s sternum, and another perpendicular to it, small, deep, precise. Sherlock’s eyes widened when he realised what was going on. He began to struggle, shaking his head wildly from side to side, protesting loudly behind his gag. It wasn’t the cutting itself that distressed him. It was the thought of Davis’ _initials_ , carved into his chest for all time, _branding_ him, marking him as _owned_. Just the thought made bile rise in his throat, and he almost choked. He stilled, trying to settle himself. Asphyxiation via his own vomit would not be a pleasant way to go.

Davis carelessly ignored Sherlock’s protests. He’d strapped him securely to the table, enough to keep him from messing up his careful work. Once done, he lifted his head, smiling at Sherlock. 

“There we go. Perfect.” He said. Sherlock just stared at him, unable to hide the distress in his eyes. He didn’t want to belong to this man. He knew to whom he belonged, and it was not Luke Davis. 

Normally, Sherlock liked being pushed beyond boundaries. He enjoyed the stress of it, adding mental strain to the physical. This, though, was further than anyone had ever pushed him before, and far from exhilarating, it was horrifying. 

Luke Davis looked at him, glanced down to his now completely flaccid cock. He rolled his eyes. “God, you’re pathetic.” He muttered. 

He climbed onto the table, straddling Sherlock’s torso, and began to stroke himself, staring into Sherlock’s panicked eyes. It didn’t take long before he was panting and moaning, hips jerking as he fucked his fist, his eyes roving between his initials on Sherlock’s chest and the anguish on his face. Sherlock shut his eyes as Davis’ warm come splattered against his neck and chest.

Sherlock breathed a small sigh of relief as Davis got off him and began unbuckling him. He finished freeing him, and tossed Sherlock’s coat at him. 

“Run along home to your doctor, then.” Davis said with a small smirk. “See you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for graphic description of an emotional reaction to a non-con situation.


	31. I Can Hear the Echoes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes home to John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry I was away so long! School is awful, and I've had the most terrible cough :( It'll be a few weeks yet before I can get back to a regular posting schedule.

Sherlock had done as Davis said. He grabbed his coat, wrapping it around him, and left. He took a cab home, with only one thought in his mind; get to John. John would be there for him, John would look after him. 

Once home, he went straight for the other man, collapsing into his lap, his shoulders shaking as he finally allowed the tears to fall. Just as he’d hoped, John wrapped his arms around him, holding him and soothing him with his mere presence. 

John wasn’t really sure what was going on, even as he did his best to comfort his friend. Usually, when Sherlock returned home John would have to patch him up, but no matter his physical injuries, Sherlock had never shown any overt signs of emotional distress, going about what had become a routine with a sort of stoic quietness. Although, looking back, John had to admit that that in itself was actually a sign of distress. After all, Sherlock was never like that when he got injured on a case. Those times, he was loudly dismissive, often more interested in excitedly recounting the case than in allowing John to provide medical aid, a far cry from the mostly silent, pliable man John had slowly become used to over the past few weeks. It suddenly struck John how little he’d been paying attention, even as he worried about his friend. Thinking on it now, John realised it had been ages since Sherlock took on a case, and he hadn’t complained once. 

John was jerked out of his thoughts when Sherlock lifted his head to look at him. His eyes were red and puffy, his flushed cheeks streaked with tears. John met his eyes, and Sherlock dipped his head, looking away. This was even more alarming than the crying, in truth. Sherlock was never afraid to look anyone in the eye, whether criminal or police officer, and certainly never John. 

John adjusted his grip on Sherlock, tucking him closer to his chest. “What happened, Sherlock?” He asked, voice gentle.

Sherlock didn’t speak, or even look up. He shifted aside the bloodied, come-stained flaps of his coat, revealing the letters carved into his chest. John sucked in a sharp, surprised breath. Sherlock hung his head, the solid ball of shame in the pit of his stomach welling up until it filled his entire chest.

“I- I don’t want it to scar.” Sherlock muttered. He glanced briefly up at John through his fringe. “It won’t scar, right?”

With the first shock of seeing it over, John looked the wound over with a professional’s eye, doing his best to ignore the drying streaks of come on Sherlock's chest. The lines were clean, but deep. “I’ll do my best.” He told Sherlock. 

Sherlock slumped against John. That meant no, obviously. It had been foolish to hope. John patted his thigh gently. 

“You’ll need stitches.” He said. Sherlock could hear how he’d slipped easily into being calm, controlled Doctor Watson. “As long as we keep infection out, once it heals it’ll barely be visible.”

He would still be able to see it, though, Sherlock thought. As long as it was there, he’d see it. He’d never hated his own powers of observation more. Stiffly, he got up, going into the bathroom.


	32. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, as always, takes good care of Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for my continued absence. As recompense and thanks to all of you for being so patient, this chapter is extra long and fluffy. Also, I should get another chapter up tomorrow, in which exciting and plotty things will most likely happen.

Sherlock sat on the toilet, staring straight ahead of him as John tended to his wound. He’d retreated into his head, barely registering anything around him. He hadn’t even noticed he was naked until John draped a clean towel over his lap. 

John set about cleaning Sherlock first, wiping away the blood and come that had smeared over most of his chest as well as his arms. Sherlock was completely zoned out, not even wincing when John passed the warm, damp towel across his wound. He applied anaesthesia and began stitching, his sutures even neater, more careful than usual. He wasn’t sure of the extent to which he could help to prevent scarring, but he did his very best. 

Once he was done, he washed his hands and dried them, then reached out to Sherlock, cupping his cheek, trying to call him back from wherever he’d gone.

“Sherlock?” He murmured, looking into his friend’s eyes. John could almost see the lights coming back on in Sherlock’s brain as his eyes focussed on John’s face. John smiled reassuringly at him. “Okay, all done. I’ll check on your stitches every day, but just keep it clean, and no getting into brawls, or anything else that might pop or strain your stitches. Okay?”

Sherlock would usually have protested or tried to negotiate, but this time round, he was particularly invested in ensuring it scarred as little as possible. He nodded his head, his cheek sliding across John’s warm palm as he did. He had to resist the urge not to lean into his touch. “Yes, John.” He murmured. 

John smiled again and put his hand down, stroking across Sherlock’s cheek. “You should get some sleep. Do you want me to stay down here with you?”

Sherlock warred himself for a brief moment. On the one hand, he’d bothered John enough, but on the other hand, he didn’t think he’d get any sleep if he was left alone. It didn’t take long before his desire for John’s presence won out. 

“Stay, please.” He requested.

John nodded, hiding his worried frown at how polite, and almost hesitant Sherlock was being. “Okay. Let me just go upstairs and change, and I’ll be right with you.”

John left, and Sherlock stayed where he was until he heard John on the stair. Then he changed into his own pyjamas and got into bed. John came down a few moments later, hesitating in the doorway, much like the first time he’d shared Sherlock’s bed a couple of weeks ago. Sherlock shifted aside to make more room for him, pulling the sheet down pointedly. John nodded, more to himself than anything, and got in. Immediately, Sherlock shifted close to John, resting his head on John’s chest. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock closed his eyes, finally beginning to calm down. 

“We’ll have to talk about this in the morning, okay?” John told him.

Sherlock felt the pleasing rumble in John’s chest as he spoke, and hummed agreeably, before registering what he’d actually said. His eyes snapped open. No, talking was bad. Talking meant consequences. 

“No.” He said, injecting a petulant note in his voice. 

John felt Sherlock’s heart rate speed up, and he carded a hand through Sherlock’s hair soothingly, shushing him. 

“Yes.” He said firmly. 

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel calmed by the gentle touch. It couldn’t be that bad, he reassured himself. John was still here, caring for him, even staying with him to help him get to sleep. It was just John. It would be all right.

Sherlock huffed. John could feel Sherlock’s breath fanning across his chest through the thin material of his pyjamas. “Alright. In the morning, then.” Sherlock muttered. He threw an arm across John’s chest. “Now go to sleep.”


	33. Talk to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to get Sherlock to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days...once upon a time, this would have been par for the course... *sigh* As requested by some of you, here we have the beginnings of Actual Conversation. Though who knows how it'll go, idiotic as these two are.

John woke early in the morning, his bad shoulder aching from bearing the weight of Sherlock’s head all night. Sherlock was still fast asleep, and John extracted himself carefully so as to not wake him. He ran himself a hot bath, and after a long soak, felt rather better. By the time he was done, it was around the time when Sherlock usually awoke, and so John busied himself in the kitchen, making toast and eggs.

Sherlock woke feeling better than he had the night before, though that wasn’t saying much. The memory of it lingered, but he pushed it to the back of his head. He’d have to face it quite soon- he remembered that John wanted to ‘talk’, but from the smell of it, he had at least half an hour’s more respite- longer if he ate his breakfast more slowly.

John knew what Sherlock was doing, as he watched his flatmate pick at his breakfast, but he didn’t say anything, just sipping placidly at his tea. In truth, he didn’t really feel ready for this conversation either, but he knew it had to be done. 

Eventually, the tension in the room grew to a point where it was probably worse than just getting it over with. Sherlock sighed, pushing his plate away from him.

“Okay, you wanted to talk.” He prompted. 

John set his mug down. He would have preferred to do this somewhere else, the sofa, for example, or at least without an entire table between them, but when one lived with Sherlock Holmes, one learned to change plans easily. 

“So...what happened, last night?” John tried, as an opening question. It felt weak, but he was rather out of his depth. This wasn’t the sort of conversation he had often. 

Sherlock pinned John with his sharp gaze. “You saw most of it.” He said calmly.

He hadn’t, really. He’d seen the cuts, but he hadn’t seen the worst parts, the things that Davis had said, and Sherlock was quite determined not to let John know. There were truths there that not even a relationship as strong as theirs would be able to handle.

John huffed slightly. He didn’t know what he’d expected. “Did you safeword?”

That was one of the first things he’d learned from his research- the importance of having and respecting a safeword. If John found that whoever Sherlock had been with had ignored his safeword, he’d- He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d do, but it would be very violent. He already had a number of scenarios planned.

Sherlock saw the thought flit across John’s face as easily as if they’d been written there. He shook his head. “No.” He said flatly.

John frowned. “Why not?” 

Sherlock shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Don’t have one.”


	34. Tell Me Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to get through to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away. Last week was absolute hell, I had three presentations, which was...not fun. But now school's out, kinda, I've got an exam in two weeks but I'm pretty confident about that, so you'll be seeing more of me from now on. Just to recap if you've forgotten, last chapter we closed with Sherlock telling John he didn't have a safeword.

John startled to his feet, frowning. “What? You can’t just-” He sat down again, in the chair next to Sherlock. “ _Why_?” 

Sherlock shrugged carelessly. “Don’t want one. Or need one.” His eyes were fixed on a burn mark on the table. Not one of his, surprisingly. John had left a pot of stew on it without a trivet.

“Well, obviously you do!” John gestured at Sherlock’s chest. 

Sherlock lifted his chin. “A miscalculation. It won’t happen again.” He said firmly.

John gave Sherlock a long look. “So you’re not going back to him?” He probed.

Sherlock hesitated. It should have been obvious, a clear, emphatic ‘Of course not!’. Yet he remembered Davis’ parting words.

_“See you tomorrow.”_

What had made him so certain that Sherlock would return? Ordinarily, he’d have dismissed it as arrogant idiocy, but Davis had shown himself to be unnervingly sharp. Sherlock shivered as he remembered the other things Davis had said, about him and John, all of it painfully true. Davis had shown that, in a way, he understood Sherlock, more than even Sherlock had expected. What did he know? 

“I don’t know.” He said eventually. He hated not knowing, now more than ever.

“Sherlock, you can’t.” John looked anguished. “Look what he did to you! It isn’t safe.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I was well aware of that before this happened.”

“Then why?” John frowned. “Are you in love with him?”

Sherlock scoffed harder. “No. And if I was, this wouldn’t be an issue, because I wouldn’t mind.”

His mind wandered briefly, imagine how it might have been different if it were John Watson’s initals on his chest, rather than Luke Davis’. No, he didn’t think he’d have minded that at all.

John didn’t seem to agree. His expression was one of mild horror, though he quickly schooled it back to neutrality. “Then why?”

“I told you. I like it.” Sherlock finally looked up, meeting John’s eyes. “I enjoy the feeling. It’s...calming.”

John folded his arms. “You didn’t seem calm last night.”

Sherlock huffed. “Last night was an anomaly.”

“No, it wasn’t.” John said fiercely. “Last night was the next piece of the pattern. This _thing_ has been escalating for weeks, and it’s only going to get worse. When’s the last time you got a proper night’s sleep? When’s the last time you even went on a case, for God’s sake? You aren’t doing any of the things you used to enjoy. I barely see you. You go out, you come back, I fix up whatever he’s done to you this time and then you collapse from exhaustion until you have to get ready to leave again. We haven’t had dinner together in weeks.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, John?” Oh, how he wished that were true. 

“That’s not the point and you know it. You can’t keep on like this, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed, slumping a little in his seat. “I know.” He said softly.


	35. Voulez-vous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a proposition.

John’s gaze was gentler. “What are you planning to do?” 

Sherlock huffed and shrugged. “Something.” He said vaguely. 

John cocked his head. “Are you going to go back to the club? Pick someone else up?”

Sherlock contemplated this. “Not a good idea.” He said after a long moment. “One of the things about...the man I was with, was that he never offered me drugs. Which is not always the case.”

John nodded. “I’m glad you considered that.” He was visibly relieved at this little piece of evidence that Sherlock was at least trying to look out for himself. “And yeah, that’d definitely be a bad idea, then. And you definitely can’t go back to that guy.” He shook his head firmly when he saw the look Sherlock shot him. “No, I won’t allow it. It’s too fucking much, Sherlock. I’ll cuff you to the sofa if you think about it.”

Caught off guard, Sherlock flushed, imagining it. He tried to make a joke, hoping John wouldn’t notice. “Mm, well if you were willing to do that, I wouldn’t even need him.”

John took a deep breath. “Yes, that’s kind of what I was hoping.”

This was it. The solution, which he’d come back to over and over as he struggled to figure out a way to help Sherlock safely get what he needed. The idea he’d immediately dismissed as wishful thinking, but which kept coming back to him, no matter how much he pushed it away.

Sherlock’s heart was pounding as he looked at John, not daring to hope that this was what he thought it was. “What- What exactly do you mean, John?”

John looked Sherlock in the eye. “You’re attracted to me.” He cut Sherlock off as the other man opened his mouth to speak. “No, I know you are, I’m not blind. And I- reciprocate that attraction.” A gross underrepresentation of his true feelings, but he pressed down on the internal voice that attempted to object. “And I care about you, as a friend. And I’ve done a fair bit of research into...this. BDSM.” It felt a little strange saying the acronym out loud, but he didn’t want to seem like he was afraid of it. “So if you’re willing...I could do this for you. I want to,” he added, not wanting Sherlock to think it was only for his benefit, “but only if you want it too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of John's idea? Good idea? Terrible idea? Also, smut levels in this fic are likely to see a sharp increase sometime in the not-so-distant future (although there are a few plot points to get through still), so if anyone has particular kinks/requests for things you want to see our boys do, I welcome suggestions.


	36. Get the Ball Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is impatient, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely suggestions! Do keep them coming in, if you think of anything, I'm always open.

“Yes.” Sherlock breathed, not even having to think about it. Somewhere deep in his mind, his rational self was screaming at him that this was a terrible idea, that it would only end in him hurt and his only friendship ruined. He didn’t care, though. If this was all John wanted, if this was all John was willing to give him- He’d take what he could get. 

A brief flicker of surprise crossed John’s face before it was replaced with grim determination. “Okay. Good.” He said calmly. “Now, I’m not going to ask you what exactly you like, because clearly it’s rubbish. But perhaps you could tell me what you like about it, and I’ll figure something out.”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. “I like the pain. I like the feeling of being...objectified. Nothing more than a sex toy, to the point where my wants and feelings don’t even matter. I like to be overwhelmed, until my brain just shuts down and there’s nothing but sensation.”

It was strange, hearing Sherlock say such intense things with his face completely straight. John bit his lip, nodding. “Okay.” He said simply, then got up. “Take it easy, today, if you can.” He said as he began washing the dishes. “No blowing up the kitchen or setting the flat on fire. You’re injured enough as it is.”

Sherlock sighed internally at this sudden return to normalcy. He didn’t know what he’d expected. For John to bend him over the kitchen table right there and then? Sherlock certainly wouldn’t have minded that. He drifted away for a moment as he pictured that, before quickly jerking himself back to reality before he developed an erection at the kitchen table. 

The morning continued as normal. John watched the morning news. He read the paper, and then began filling in the crossword. He’d barely got through half of the clues before Sherlock ran out of patience. He went over to John in his armchair, delicately plucking the newspaper out of his hands before climbing into his lap. 

“You’ve been filling that in at less than half your usual rate. You’re barely paying attention to it. And I think I know what you’re really thinking about.” He leaned in close, his tall frame looming over John. “You needn’t drag it out, John. I’m as eager as you are.” He reached down, palming his own cock for emphasis. “And you needn’t worry. I know you’ll be- more than adequate.” He glanced down at the sizeable bulge in John’s pants, moaning low in his throat. The moan turned to a yelp as John stood abruptly, depositing him carefully but none too gently onto the floor. It was John’s turn to loom as Sherlock looked up at him.

“I don’t appreciate you being so demanding.” John said, voice chillingly calm. “It’s not for you to decide when you want me.”

“Yes, sir.” Sherlock gasped. His heart was pounding, heat spreading rapidly through his body.

John shook his head. “Say my name.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock repeatedly obediently.

John smiled, abruptly looking a lot more John-like. “You’re a pushy bastard,” he said, looking now more amused than annoyed, “but then I already knew that. I suppose I’ll indulge you, just this once.” Mentally, John scoffed at himself. He sounded like Mrs Hudson. As if he didn’t indulge Sherlock literally all of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's so fun to write. It's such an interesting challenge to find the line where he tips between 'submissive' and 'annoying baby'.


	37. Just Where I Want You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shows Sherlock a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. It's pretty much pure porn. Enjoy ;)

John went upstairs, and Sherlock did as instructed. He hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do with his pyjamas, before folding them up and placing them on the coffee table. Then he stood in the middle of the living room, fidgeting nervously as he waited for John to come down.

John quickly reappeared, dressed in his day clothes. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, unable to resist a quip. “I hope we’re not going anywhere.” He remarked, indicating his own state of undress.

John snorted. “Like I haven’t watched you leave the flat pretty much naked every night for several weeks.” He sat down in his chair. “No, we’re not going anywhere, but I didn’t think a dressing gown was quite dress code for this sort of activity.” He fixed Sherlock with a stern look. “Now, before anything happens, I want you to have a safeword.”

Sherlock huffed irritably. “I told you, I don’t want or need-”

John cut him off. “I don’t care.” He said flatly. “Safeword. Now, or this goes no further.”

Sherlock scowled. “Fine. Safeword.”

John’s lips twitched into a smile. “Practical.” He commented. He patted his lap. “Alright, come on, then.”

Sherlock moved to straddle John’s lap, but John shook his head. “No, like this.” His hands were firm on Sherlock’s waist as he guided him to turn around. He situated Sherlock on his lap, sat facing outwards towards the room, slouched down slightly so that John could see over his shoulder.

“Tall bastard.” John murmured affectionately into Sherlock’s ear, his hands stroking slowly up Sherlock’s thighs. They crept closer to his groin, and Sherlock bucked upwards impatiently, almost slipping off John’s lap. John hooked his hands around Sherlock’s inner thighs, tugging him back into position, spreading Sherlock’s legs wide so they dangled off the sides of his knees. With how wide John’s legs were spread, Sherlock was completely exposed, and he groaned as he imagined how debauched he must already look. 

“None of that, now.” John chided gently. “Just lie still for me.”

Sherlock let out a soft, pleased sigh, and went limp, his head lolling back against John’s shoulder.

“There we go.” John said, voice warm with approval. “You’re so good, when you want to be. Lovely.” He dropped a kiss onto Sherlock’s shoulder. His hands resumed their wandering, smoothing over the flat planes of Sherlock’s belly, exploring the angles of his hips and waist.

Arousal and anticipation were building in Sherlock until he was tingling in his extremities from it, his cock hard and wet. When John licked a wet stripe up the side of his neck, he jerked, moaning. John’s low, dark chuckle rumbled in his ears, and he shivered. 

“Thought you were being good for me, Sherlock.” John murmured. “I hope you’re not making the mistake of thinking this is for your benefit. Are you?”

Sherlock shook his head slightly. “No, John.”

John smiled and kissed Sherlock’s ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Good.” 

One of John’s hands swept up Sherlock’s chest, curling firmly around Sherlock’s throat without pressing down. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the movement of Sherlock’s swallow as he struggled to remain still. 

“This is entirely self indulgent, I assure you.” John told Sherlock. “Having you naked and spread out for me- like a gorgeous feast for me to enjoy.”

The hand not on Sherlock’s neck began to tease at Sherlock’s nipples, tugging and twisting the hard nubs. Sherlock felt like he was burning up with arousal, on the verge of coming just from John’s teasing touch. His chest heaved, his breath coming out ragged as he forced himself not to wriggle in John’s hold.


	38. Ask Me Nicely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock begs.

John smiled against Sherlock’s shoulder, mouthing up the line of his neck. Catching sight of Sherlock’s face, he stilled, mesmerised by his expression of ecstasy. It was such an arousing experience, having Sherlock naked and writhing in his lap. The rush of it made him want to laugh out loud. 

“John.” Sherlock whined, trying to figure out why he’d stopped.

John almost apologised, but stopped himself. “Patience.” He told Sherlock instead. “I’m enjoying myself- don’t interrupt me.”

John felt Sherlock relax back against him. Then Sherlock turned his head, ever so slightly, locking eyes with him, and John lost his breath all over again. Sherlock looked more relaxed than he had moments ago, no longer contorted with pleasure, but still burning with desire, his eyes hazy with arousal. His lips were wet and swollen where Sherlock had been licking and biting them to distract himself from trying to move with John’s touch. 

John felt an overwhelming desire to kiss Sherlock, but he pushed it away. He could, he knew that, Sherlock almost certainly wouldn’t mind, but it felt wrong somehow. He had to keep reminding himself that, wonderful as this was, it wasn’t like in his fantasies. Sherlock wasn’t his boyfriend. John was pretty much just the best of a bad lot. So although Sherlock had pretty much given him carte blanche on his person, John had to set the rules, and this was one he set for himself- no kissing. No kissing, because if he did, it would be far too easy to pretend, and he didn’t want to do that. After all, out of the two of them, one of them had to be the sane one. 

John dragged himself back to the present, and he resumed stroking and teasing Sherlock, until he was once again letting out gasps and whines, his body tense and thrumming with arousal.

“Do you want to come, Sherlock?” John asked, his hands creeping down Sherlock’s stomach towards his cock.

Sherlock nodded frantically. “Yes, John.”

John smiled. “Well, you’d better ask nicely, then.”

“Please, John.” Sherlock begged him. “Touch me, make me come, please.”

John obliged with a low chuckle, taking hold of Sherlock’s cock and stroking it, achingly slowly. Sherlock moaned and panted, turning his head to bury his face in John’s neck.

“More. More please, John.” Came the muffled words. 

“What, you can’t come like this?” John teased.

Sherlock could, probably, but it would take ages, and he already felt like he was going to fall apart, the coiled energy of his impending orgasm swelling in him with unbearable pressure, his skin feeling like it would bust if he had to stand any more teasing. He pulled his head back, looking up at John with wide, pleading eyes. 

“John, please.” He gasped. “I need it, please, let me, John.”

John finally obliged, firming his grip and speeding up the pace of his strokes. A moan caught in Sherlock’s throat, the pleasure in him ramping up with dizzying speed, pushing him closer to the orgasm he was so desperate for. He stared up into John’s eyes as he came apart, no longer able to control his body as he bucked and writhed, shuddering as his orgasm went on for what seemed like minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to stop myself from writing very extensively on how pretty Sherlock is. He's so pretty. I don't know how John can stand it. He's beautiful. I love him.


	39. You Fill Up My Senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns the favour. John gets rough. Sherlock loves it, obviously.

Eventually Sherlock went limp, his wrung-out body splayed across John, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. John wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the come that smeared across his palms as he did so. 

“God, that was brilliant.” John told him. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

After a moment, Sherlock summoned the energy to turn his head, meeting John’s eyes. He was grinning slightly, his eyes shining, high on his orgasm and the knowledge that it was _John_ who’d given it to him, John who had given him so much pleasure and was now looking at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

Post-orgasmic exhaustion forgotten, Sherlock slithered onto the floor, turning around to kneel in front of John before hesitating. 

“I want to suck your cock, John. Please, may I?” He laid his head in John’s lap, looking up at him with wide, beseeching eyes. 

John groaned aloud, cupping Sherlock’s face in his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He said breathlessly.

Sherlock practically dove for John’s fly, rapidly undoing it with deft fingers. He stopped for a moment once John’s cock was revealed, drinking in the sight and feel of it. It was flushed red, hard and leaking, a pleasantly hefty weight against his palm. Sherlock let out a quiet moan at the thought of having it in his mouth.

“Go on, then.” John told him, a hint of firmness leaking into his tone. 

Sherlock didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He leaned in, wrapping his lips around the head, both their moans sounding in tandem. Curling one hand around the base, he closed his eyes, bobbing his head as he inched John’s cock deeper into his mouth. It felt good, being filled up by John, all of his senses consumed by him- the musky taste and smell of his arousal, the sound of his groans and pants. 

John stroked his hands through Sherlock’s silky hair, caressing the back of his head. Experimentally, he gripped Sherlock’s hair tight, thrusting up into the wet cavern of his mouth. Sherlock’s eyes snapped open as he let out a shocked moan, his throat spasming around John’s cock. 

John tugged Sherlock’s head back, pulling him off his cock. He looked him in the eye. “Okay?” He asked. He considered that asking might throw Sherlock out of the scene, but he couldn’t continue without checking.

Sherlock, fortunately, didn’t seem to mind. He nodded frantically, as much as he could considering the tight grip John had on his hair. “Yes, John.” He gasped hoarsely. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

John nodded and tugged Sherlock back down, planting his feet firmly as he worked his hips, thrusting roughly into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock went lax and pliant, staring up at John with adoration as he allowed his mouth to be used.

Sherlock kept his eyes on John, watching his face avidly and committing every expression to memory as John took his pleasure from Sherlock. His breathing quickened in anticipation as he felt John stiffen, his pace faltering as he began to orgasm. He tugged Sherlock all the way down, and Sherlock moaned, his nose buried in John’s pubic hair as John’s cock twitched and sprayed bitter come down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in the living room, with my brother sleeping in front of me, my grandmother having dinner, and my other brother and my mother having a fight about baking in the kitchen. So attempting to write smut was an...interesting experience. Hopefully it's not terrible.


	40. Soft and Sweet Like Homemade Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, as always looks after Sherlock

Once he came down from his orgasm, John released his tight hold on Sherlock’s hair, wincing in sympathy as a few strands separated from Sherlock’s head. “Sorry about that.”

Sherlock glanced up at John, before lifting his head, reluctantly allowing John’s softened cock to fall from between his lips. “Worth it.” He said with a small grin. 

John gently tugged Sherlock up by the arms, getting him to curl up in his lap, sitting sideways with his head on John’s shoulder. The position was as much for John’s benefit as it was for Sherlock’s- The need for reassurance went both ways.

“So, good, then?” John murmured.

Sherlock nodded, humming contentedly. “Thank you, John.”

John carded his fingers gently through Sherlock’s sticky hair. “I’m happy to.” He told him. “It was kind of brilliant for me as well, which I...didn’t totally expect.”

Not the ‘having sex with Sherlock’ bit, which John knew he’d enjoy, but the dominance itself. It surprised him, how easily he fell into it, without having to think too hard. He’d worried he’d have difficulty, because he was too used to letting Sherlock take the lead, but it had been...good. It felt right, taking charge and giving Sherlock what he needed, finding his own pleasure in the way Sherlock fell apart in his hands. 

Sherlock relaxed against John’s chest, gazing up at John with unfocussed eyes, absently watching the movement of John’s blurry, too-close jaw, the working of of his throat as he swallowed.

“How’s your throat feeling?” He heard John say. 

Sherlock hummed quietly. “Just fine.” He murmured.

The vibration of John’s chuckle thrummed through Sherlock’s chest. “I can hear the hoarseness in your voice.” He nudged Sherlock’s side gently. “Come on, up. I’ll make you some tea with honey.”

Sherlock turned his head, clinging on to John and burying his face in his neck. “No.” He muttered.

“Yes.” John countered, sounding amused. “Anyway, you need to go take a bath. You have come in your hair.”

Sherlock automatically lifted a hand to his hair, grimacing slightly. “Okay.” He conceded.

“Good boy.” John said warmly, patting Sherlock’s rear. “Go run yourself a bath, then you can have your tea while I wash your hair. Don’t fill it full, though, we still need to keep your stitches dry” 

Sherlock got to his feet, padding over to the bathroom to start a warm bath. Once the water was running, he went back out into the kitchen to look for John. It felt wrong, being alone in the bathroom, after John’s warm solidity. John was at the counter, making tea, and Sherlock draped himself across John’s back, wrapping his arms around John’s waist. John tilted his head back, smiling up at Sherlock.

“Missed me, did you?” John said, voice warm and teasing. Sherlock hummed noncommittally, then nodded. John turned around, returning the embrace. He steadied himself against the counter as Sherlock leaned his weight against him. 

“Oof, you’re heavy, for a skinny person.” John laughed. He pried Sherlock off him and handed him his mug of tea. “Come on, not here.” He took Sherlock’s free hand in his own, and headed for the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're so soft... My mum just made bread, which really put me in the mood for this chapter. Soft, fluffy, sweetness. Just like fresh homemade bread, but with more nakedness.


	41. What am I to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets it wrong. Sherlock gets it wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me ayyy (birthday fanart, anyone?)

John let go of Sherlock’s hand once they were in the bathroom in order to strip carelessly, dropping his clothes onto the floor before getting into the hot water with a pleased groan. He glanced over at Sherlock, wondering why he wasn’t joining him. He found him frozen where John had left him, staring entranced at his naked body which, John suddenly realised, Sherlock was seeing for the first time. 

John smiled affectionately at Sherlock, beckoning him closer. “You can look all you want some other time. Come on, get in.”

Sherlock set down his tea on the toilet and approached, climbing awkwardly into the bath. This was the part that was strange to him. Sex, pain, humiliation- all that was far more comfortable and familiar than John’s gentle care. Fortunately, he didn’t have much time to overthink things before John’s hands were on him, pressing his mug back into his hands before pulling him against his chest in a mirror to the position they’d been in just before, when John had taken him apart with just his hands and his words. Now, John’s hands were not teasing, or wandering, just holding on with firm, gentle pressure. He allowed himself to sink back against John, relaxing in the water with a sigh. He took a sip of his tea. Perfect, as always.

“This all right?” John asked, having sensed Sherlock’s hesitation.

“Yes.” Sherlock murmured. “S’nice.”

“Okay, good.” John guided Sherlock forwards a little with his hands. “Forward a bit, so I can get at your head. You know, all this really would be much easier if you were shorter.”

“I’ve heard that before, yes.” Sherlock agreed.

Jealousy flared in John’s stomach at the unexpected reminder of all the people who’d had Sherlock besides him. Not the numbers, per se -he was hardly one to judge- but the fact that this, what he was doing with Sherlock, was nothing more than one more in a long line of others- nothing special, no matter how much he wished he was. 

Sherlock felt the sudden tension in John, mentally berating himself. John didn’t want to hear about everyone else. He didn’t need a reminder of what an absolute slut Sherlock was. He should have known, shouldn’t have let his guard down like that. Barely two hours in, and he was already screwing up. 

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“It’s fine.” John responded, unconvincingly, in Sherlock’s opinion. “Really.” He rubbed a soothing hand on Sherlock’s chest. “Come on, lie back down. Let me look after you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen rants about how using misunderstandings to create drama is a tired and overused trope, so @ all of you who think that: sorry. But I really love it tbh


	42. I'm Alright if You're Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow-up conversation.

John guided Sherlock to pillow his head on John’s chest, trying gently to soothe him. It wasn’t for Sherlock to have to deal with John’s emotions. John had known what he was getting into, when he suggested this arrangement. He scooped up water and let it trickle over Sherlock’s head, dampening his hair, careful to keep it out of Sherlock’s eyes. Taking a bit of Sherlock’s fancy, expensive shampoo, he began to lather Sherlock’s hair, massaging his scalp with firm pressure. 

Sherlock began to relax in spite of himself, letting out a shuddering moan at the sensation of John’s fingers on his sensitive scalp. When John’s fingers brushed against his ear he jumped slightly, almost dropping his mug of tea. 

John couldn’t help laughing a little. He’d noticed that sensitivity earlier, but it hadn’t gotten old yet. He dipped one hand in the water, rinsing it off, and reached out to pluck the mug from Sherlock’s hands, setting it on the side of the bathtub. 

“Careful.” He said, voice coloured with amusement. “I’ve heard people say bathing in tea is beneficial, but I don’t think you’re meant to add sugar, as well. You’ll get ants.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock murmured, not really paying attention to John’s words. He’d been listening more to his tone of voice. He didn’t sound angry with him, which was good. He drifted off in a haze of relaxation as John rinsed his hair.

After John had ensured that Sherlock’s hair was properly cleaned, he tugged Sherlock closer to him against, wrapping his arms around him. The water was still warm, after all, and he didn’t feel like getting up. They stayed that way until the water began to grow cool around them. Sherlock would have been happy to lie in cold water as long as he was also lying in John’s arms, but John nudged at him, silently urging him to get up. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet, grabbing himself a towel and passing one to John as well. By silent agreement, they both went to get dressed, and then reconvened in the kitchen, Sherlock back in his pyjamas and John in a fresh set of clothing. 

“So...how was that?” John asked, as he set about making them both fresh cups of tea. “All right?”

He glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock, and the man nodded slowly. “Adequate, I suppose.”

John frowned slightly, turning to face Sherlock, before noticing the teasing quirk of Sherlock’s lips. He turned back to the tea, shaking his head. “Bastard.” He muttered. “Seriously, though. It was okay? Would you want that to be a...regular thing?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said immediately. “I did enjoy it. I’d like to do that again, if you also want to-?”

John set Sherlock’s tea in from of him. “Yeah, I do.” He agreed. “So. That’s settled, then. Any plans for today?”

Sherlock hummed, taking out his phone. “I’ll ask Lestrade about cases, hopefully he’ll have something decent. If not, I suppose I’ll go down to the morgue.”

John breathed an internal sigh of relief, glad to see Sherlock returning to normal activities. That is to say, normal for him. “You’ll tell me if there’s a case, yeah?”

Sherlock smiled up at him. “Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels strange to apply what I learned about children to this situation, but follow-up is very important.


	43. They Never Wake Again Who Sleep Upon Your Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis makes a return.

Lestrade did not, regrettably, have a case at present, but he sent over a box of unsolved ones from the last month, which Sherlock spent a pleasant afternoon picking through to find and solve the more interesting ones, the solutions to which he emailed to Lestrade.

Lestrade had expressed some surprise at Sherlock’s sudden request for cases after such a long absence. Fortunately, Sherlock had never been one to volunteer personal information, and so when he merely said that he’d been busy, Lestrade didn’t press the issue. 

In the evening, he and John ordered in takeaway, and ate it while watching crap telly. If John felt any awkwardness over the change in the parameters of their relationship, he didn’t show it. He behaved just as he always did, dependably John-like, with his dry sense of humour and his terrible taste in ‘documentaries’. 

Afterwards, John checked over Sherlock’s stitches. “I should’ve done this in the morning.” He’d muttered. He flashed a brief smile up at Sherlock. “I told you to stay still for a reason, you know.”

“You try it next time, see how well you do.” Sherlock retorted.

John laughed at that. It was a lovely sound, and did much to help Sherlock ignore the reason he’d even needed stitches in the first place. 

“Well, you don’t seem to have done yourself any harm, fortunately.” John murmured. “Keep the bandage on, don’t get into any fights, you should be fine. I’ll look at you again tomorrow.”

Sherlock smirked. “You can look at me any time you like.” 

John laughed again. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.” He murmured, standing. “Which reminds me, we’re both going to get blood tests. Tomorrow.”

Sherlock huffed in irritation, though secretly, he was pleased by how seriously John was taking this whole arrangement. Though of course he would, Sherlock reminded himself. John was a doctor. 

All in all, it was a most satisfactory day. Sherlock ignored the text from Davis, when it came in, which turned out to be a mistake when he finally looked at it the following morning.

_Seems like you’re not coming. Lost interest? Or perhaps I scared you off. Not to worry. Perhaps some of the other detectives will be more to your liking. I’ll help you ask around? <3 _

Sherlock read the implicit threat easily, feeling himself go cold at the thought. This, he remembered, was the reason he’d stopped in the first place. Other people, when they found out- they didn’t understand. They wouldn’t even try to. People had their preconceived notions, and if word got out, he’d never be viewed as a professional again. Furthermore, the people at the Yard would be happy to believe it, even without proof. Lestrade was the only one who more than tolerated him. They’d be glad of any reason to disregard him. Then there were the photos. The ones for Davis’ blog. There were many, accumulated over the weeks. None of his face, but they were still him. Davis could ruin him easily, and he knew it. Sherlock was panicking, his mind clouding over and making it even harder to think. For once, had no idea what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what's up with my writing style at the beginning of this chapter. sorry about that.


	44. Let's Get Down to Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a plan.

John came down in the morning to a shell-shocked Sherlock sitting on the sofa, staring at the mobile phone in his hand. He didn’t notice at first, too focussed on getting his morning cup of tea, but when his muttered ‘Good morning’ didn’t garner so much as a grunt in reply or even a twitch, he looked at his friend in concern.

“What happened?” John asked, finally noticing Sherlock’s expression. 

Wordlessly, Sherlock passed the phone to John. John sat down next to Sherlock, a frown appearing on his face as he read the text.

“Has he already done it, then?” John asked, noting the timestamp.

Sherlock shook his head. “No.” He said quietly. “He wouldn’t have. It’s a power game, just like everything else. He has me, and he knows it. He’s just waiting for me to come crawling back…”

John shook his head firmly. “You’re not going back to him.” He said flatly.

“But John, the Work-”

“You’re not.” John repeated. “You’re forgetting, you’re quite the force to be reckoned with on your own. And you are most certainly not alone. You’ve got someone fairly formidable you can always call on for help.”

“If you mean Mycroft, John, I-”

“I meant me, actually.” John interrupted smoothly, raising an eyebrow. “And him, too, I suppose.”

“What are you going to do?” Sherlock was looking at him steadily, trustingly, and John felt keenly the weight of the sheer amount of faith Sherlock had in him. He straightened his shoulders, looking every inch the soldier despite being clad only in pyjamas, his hair sticking every which way. 

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t bother you again.” He said with a grim smile.

Sherlock felt a shiver run through him. He thought that if he hadn’t been sitting down he might have fallen to his knees. Normally, John kept this side of himself wrapped up tight, tucked beneath woolen jumpers and polite smiles. To see it like this -unleashed in full force right in front of him- was dizzyingly arousing. 

John noticed Sherlock’s reaction, mentally filing it away to explore further later on. At the moment, though, he had some retribution to plan. “You were right, though, getting Mycroft in on it _will_ be a great help. But I’ll only ask him if you don’t mind.”

Sherlock shrugged, and nodded. “He already knows. Not the details, but he keeps enough tabs on me to know what I’ve been doing.”

“Okay. One more thing. He said ‘other detectives’. So he’s from the Yard?”

Sherlock nodded again. “You don’t know him. We only worked one case together, when you were sick.”

“Right, okay. Text him, now. Do whatever groveling he expects, get him to meet you tonight, somewhere private.”

Sherlock nodded, already typing. “Won’t be hard. He’ll tell me to meet at his house again. He prefers it, feels more in control there.” His lips quirked slightly. “An Englishman’s home is his castle.”

Now that John was there, being his comfortingly collected self, Sherlock felt his panic receding. It was shockingly easy to let go, and allow himself to believe that John would take care of it. John would always take care of him. 

“And what am I supposed to do when I meet him?” Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. “You’re not going to meet him.” He smiled darkly. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF John is my favourite, along with soft John. As I think you can tell from this fic. _*hands out John appreciation flags*_


	45. You Don't Touch My Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Davis have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter. Didn't want to break up the goodness :^)

The door opened behind him, precisely on time. Luke Davis didn’t look up, waiting for Sherlock to speak, to beg. It was a rare occurrence, getting Sherlock to beg, and he enjoyed it every time. He was sure he would beg, now. 

“So, are you going to explain why I didn’t see you last night?” He said expectantly.

Unseen and unheard behind him, John Watson crept closer. Davis was about to turn to look at his sub when there was a flurry of motion. With military efficiency, John dropped the man into a sleeper hold, counting the seconds until he went limp before dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

*****

Davis winced as he blinked his way back to consciousness. Taking stock of his situation, he noted that he was shirtless, and his legs as well as his left hand were strapped down tightly. As for his right hand- he moved it experimentally, and heard a clink and felt a tug on his wrist restricting his movements- handcuffs.

“Ah, you’re back.” He heard a voice say. 

John perched on the side of the table, looking coldly down at the man strapped to it. Davis narrowed his eyes, glaring up at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He demanded.

“John Watson. A pleasure to finally meet you in person.” John said, voice heavy with irony. 

Davis remained silent, watching his captor warily. Mentally, he was already planning how he was going to punish Sherlock for setting his lapdog on him. What did he think that would achieve? He was pulled out of his thoughts when Watson started speaking again.

“I can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to blackmail Sherlock.” Watson’s smile look amused, in a way that didn’t bode well for Davis. “Did you think, when he submitted to you, that it meant you had any real power over him? Anything you might have done to him, it was because he let you...until you stepped over the line.”

Davis scoffed at that. “Line? What line, Sherlock doesn’t have lines. He’ll let anyone do anything to him, and everyone knows it.”

John’s scowl deepened. “Of course he has lines, everyone does. You went way past them, and you either didn’t know, or didn’t care. Either way, you’re an idiot.”

Davis rolled his eyes. “What, so it’s _my_ duty to be all carefully watchful of his feelings? I told him, the very first time, I’m not going to do that. He’s a grown man, I’m not in charge of his _emotions_.”

“Yes!” John said, now getting agitated. “You fucking idiot excuse of a Dominant. Sherlock’s submission is a...a _gift_. And to be the one to take him down, you have both the privilege as well as a...duty, not to harm him.”

Davis snorted. “New, to this, are you? You sound like a fucking pamphlet.”

John breathed out slowly, regaining control of himself. “I didn’t come here to debate with you your technique. Whatever you may say, attempting to _blackmail_ him definitely crossed the line. And I assure you, it didn’t work. You have no power over him. So here’s the deal. You will not speak to Sherlock, or text him, or look at him, speak about him, or even fucking think about him. As far as anyone is concerned, you never met.”

Davis raised a challenging eyebrow. “And how do you plan to make me do this?”

John smiled coldly. “I believe you knew the late Robert Farley well?”

Davis’ blood ran cold. No one knew what had happened to him, he’d just disappeared one day. Apparently, because he was dead. He began struggling against his bonds, though he already knew it would be no use. “You’re going to kill me?” He said frantically.

“No.” John said, and Davis breathed a sigh of relief. “As long as you comply, at any rate. Tomorrow, you will receive a job offer which will require you to move to the United States. You have until the end of the month to be out of London. And if you ever step foot in the United Kingdom again, I will know.”

Davis was shaking. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll have you arrested.”

“I assure you, the charges won’t stick. And if you try, we’ll have to have another of these chats, and I’ll have to be a little more _forceful_ with you. And believe me, you don’t want to know the words I want to carve onto _your_ skin.”

Doctor Watson’s smile was coldly calculating. Even without knowing that he’d killed another man, Davis didn’t have a hard time believing that he would quite happily carry out his threat. 

“Alright, yes, fine.” He agreed. Anything to get him away from this...this creature. 

John smiled suddenly. “Excellent! I knew you’d see reason. Alright, I’m off. One last thing before I go-”

He leaned over, and placed something cold and wet into Davis’ hand. Davis yelped, flexing his hand, and dropped it. John bent over to pick it up.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

He held up the item for Davis to see. It was the key to the handcuffs, encased in a block of ice.

“It’ll melt in an hour or so. Probably closer to half an hour, with the heat from your fingers. Then you’ll be able to free yourself quite easily.” He explained. He placed the ice back into Davis’ hand. “You’d best hang on tight to that.”

Then, with a smile and a cheery wave, he turned to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue in this chapter didn't flow as smoothly as I wanted it to...what do you guys think?


	46. Finding Equilibrium in an Inherently Unbalanced Dynamic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a Dom may come naturally to John, but it's not perfect. That's fine, though.

“So, yeah, that’s basically what happened.” John said, as he finished telling Sherlock what had transpired between him and Davis. Sherlock was staring at John, mouth open slightly, his hand gripping his thigh so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Now that he was done with his tale, John finally noticed the state that Sherlock was in. “Are you- You’re hard?”

“John.” Sherlock breathed, completely overcome. 

A slow smile spread across John’s face, and he got to his feet, going over to straddle Sherlock’s lap, kneeling so that he loomed over the other man. Sherlock silently tipped his head back, subconsciously exposing his throat as he watched John with wide eyes.

“You like that, do you?” John’s voice was darkly, dangerously amused. “You like hearing what I did to him. The arrogant, posturing prick...he thought he was so tough, but he almost wet himself when faced with _me_. Is that what gets you hard, Sherlock?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock whispered, mesmerised by the sound of John’s voice, his words, the expression on his face. 

John cupped Sherlock’s face, caressing Sherlock’s cheek gently with his fingertips. “He was so frightened of me. How hot does it get you, knowing that I reduced him to begging so easily? That I could just as easily do the same to you?”

“Very hot.” Sherlock agreed, squirming beneath John. “John, please-”

John smiled at him, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “You’re very tempting. But our blood test results won’t be back until next week.”

“That didn’t stop you yesterday morning.” Sherlock pointed out. 

“Yes, about yesterday morning.” John gave Sherlock a look that immediately made him regret bringing it up. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what an impatient brat you were.”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat at John’s words. “Sorry, John.” He murmured, looking down contritely.

John snorted, not fooled by the act for a second. “No you’re not. But you will be.” John’s voice was heady, and full of promise. “I think it’s time you showed me some of your elusive self-control. So- for the next week, you’re not to touch yourself. And if you’re good, at the end of the week, once our results come back, you’ll get a reward.”

Sherlock looked intrigued. “And if I don’t comply?”

John shrugged. “Then you can enjoy your sad, lonely wanks on your own. And I won’t touch you for another week following that.”

That, Sherlock had to admit, was a much more daunting prospect than any thrashing. Not that he’d actually been genuinely considering disobeying John. 

“So?” John asked expectantly. “Are you going to be good?” 

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, John.”

John smiled. “Good boy.”

John got off Sherlock’s lap, now feeling slightly awkward. Was the ‘scene’ now over? Surely it wasn’t supposed to be ongoing over the whole week, that would be exhausting for the both of them. How did aftercare come into a scenario like this? At this point, he felt his inexperience keenly. Sherlock noticed John’s uncertainty, standing and crossing over to stand in front of him. 

“I enjoyed that very much, you were- You somehow always know exactly what to say.” Sherlock told him.

John glanced up at him. “So that was good? You are okay with this? I wasn’t sure if it was too...intense, or too early for something like this-”

“I like intense.” Sherlock pointed out, cutting John off before he could begin rambling. “So yes, it’s good. Now stop worrying about it. I would like to be held now.”

Sherlock didn’t give John time to hesitate, pushing into John’s space and folding his lanky frame over John. John chuckled, relief filling him as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s torso. 

“But you remember that you have a safeword, yes? And you can use it?” 

Sherlock audibly rolled his eyes. “Yes, John. Do I also get a safeword from your nagging? Because I would like to use it now.”

John swatted Sherlock lightly on the bum. “Cheeky.” He murmured.

Sherlock only sank deeper against John with a low moan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Doms need a little aftercare too. That's one of my favourite things about this scenario that I (or rather, the person who prompted this fic) have cooked up- that you have a very experienced submissive with a first-time Dom. Usually, with Dom/sub fics, I find it's often the other way round, if there is any imbalance in experience- an experienced Dom with an inexperienced submissive. So this dynamic is very interesting to explore.


	47. Testing Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiating the parameters of a relationship is an ongoing process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is set up for a few kinks that some of you have requested (see? I listen to you guys! I've even already done a few-nipple play, begging, teasing, giving orders)- namely toys and kneeling, both requested by Alihahnaid (although some of you requested some specific kinds of toys, which will also most likely come into play. Unrequested, but which will feature heavily anyway because I love it, is orgasm denial. Just a little teaser trailer of things to come ;) And I'm still open to requests, if you have any more.

The next day, Lestrade finally called with a case for them. Not the most exciting, though it took Sherlock most of the day to follow the clues to their inevitable conclusion- that is to say, a thrilling chase, followed by a criminal in police custody and a victorious duo going out for a late dinner, in which Sherlock recounted his cleverness and John was appropriately impressed. Then, once their hunger, need for adventure, and desire for the other’s company were all sated (though not all to equal degrees), John had a curious question for Sherlock.

“Sherlock? Remember that case with Farley, when you deduced that the victim was not in a BDSM relationship because they didn’t have toys, and such? Do you have any?”

Sherlock nodded. “Some things. When I...left the lifestyle behind, I threw out a lot of stuff. Some I kept because it was potentially useful, like the rope and the makeup. And a couple of dildos, for...personal use. The collar and cuffs were more...sentimental. And over the last month I picked up a few more things, like an enema kit." It was odd, talking about these things out loud. Just another way John differed from all the other Doms he'd had in his life. Usually they were the ones who did the talking.

John nodded. “I never did ask, why you stopped? And are you planning to stop again?”

He hoped not. Even after only a few days, John had grown attached to this new dynamic to their relationship. He enjoyed having sex with Sherlock, obviously, but also the other parts, being able to hold him and care for him. 

“Well, I was getting clean of...other things.” Sherlock said after a moment. “And like I told you, there was a fair bit of drug usage going on at the clubs. Not really the place to go to when you’re a recovering drug addict. So I stopped. But now that I’ve...gotten back to it, no, I don’t intend to stop.” He smiled briefly at John. “Since I’ve got you, and I doubt you’re about to start tempting me with cocaine.”

John snorted. “No, certainly not. So, the things you've got, are you happy with all that? I was wondering if we ought to go shopping."

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, but in his head he was already writing out a shopping list, so he nodded. 

John smiled. "Okay, great. We can go whenever we happen to be free. But preferably sometime this week.” He smiled at Sherlock. “After all, I did promise you a reward.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “So certain I’m going to be good?”

Sherlock’s tone was teasing, but John took the question seriously. “I have the utmost faith in you.” He said sincerely, meaning it in more senses than just the one most salient in the moment.

Sherlock stared at John for a moment, blinking. “John, I have a request.” He said when he came back to himself. 

John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock hardly ever _requested_ things, so much as took what he wanted and informed John about it later. This, then, must also be related to the new aspect of their relationship. “Go on.”

“I know you said no sexual contact until the blood results are back, but I wanted to ask about other kinds of...release, as it were. As in, if it were possible for me to...submit to you, not necessarily in a sexual manner, just so that I could still...have that.” Sherlock said all of this quickly, not wanting John to interrupt.

John didn’t respond for a bit, just looking at Sherlock, and processing. “Yes.” He said eventually. “That’s a really good point, I hadn’t meant to...go cold on you, especially not so soon. Did you have anything in mind?”

Sherlock nodded. “It can be something simple. You don’t really have to do anything much, actually, I was thinking I could just- kneel for you. When we’re at home, of course.”

“Okay, we can try that out.” John agreed. “When?”

“When we go home tonight?” Sherlock gave John a pleading look.

“Yeah, alright.” John smiled at Sherlock’s eagerness. “As long as you finish your dinner.” He glanced pointedly at Sherlock’s plate.


	48. There's a Light in the Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a revelation.

John took hold of Sherlock’s wrist as they came in the door of 221B. “I want to take a look at your chest, first. Especially since you managed to get yourself into a chase.”

“All in the pursuit of justice, John.” Sherlock said with a slight smile.

John smiled back. “I wouldn’t expect any less of you, but let me take a look at it anyway.”

“It’s most likely fine.” Sherlock said, but as he was already unbuttoning his shirt, John didn’t bother formulating a rebuttal. Sherlock dropped his shirt on the floor, turning to face John. He watched John’s hands as they peeled the dressing away, his fingertips brushing feather-light against Sherlock’s skin.

“You’ll need to clean them, especially since you’ve been sweating.” John murmured. “Is the bathroom sink clean?” He waited for Sherlock’s nod before continuing. “Okay, we might as well do it now, then.”

He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s wrist again, leading him towards the bathroom. As usual, Sherlock sat on the closed toilet lid, fingers tapping absently at his knees as he watched John filling the sink with water and antibacterial soap, wetting and then wringing out a washcloth. 

John went through the motions of caring for Sherlock’s stitches with a meditative calm, gently cleaning the area around the sutures while taking care not to tug at them, patting them dry with a clean towel. Privately, he compared it to the idea of subspace, which he had read about. The phenomenon was less talked about in relation to a person in the Dominant role- at least, not in this way- not a state of assumed superiority, but just a sense of calm that comes from knowing that your submissive is well cared for. 

Sherlock watched John work, allowing his face to relax as he knew John’s eyes were focussed on his chest. It seemed, nowadays, that it was more and more often that he found himself having to school an utterly besotted expression away from his face. He didn’t know how he’d managed to keep it from John- no one else was fooled, not Mrs Hudson or Luke Davis or Lestrade, who’d send him a knowing look every now and then to remind him that he knew. He didn’t think he’d be able to keep it from John for long, though, not now, when John flirted with him over dinner, and touched him gently, and _had his ex exiled_ , and did a million other devastatingly wonderful things as casually as breathing, like his very existence didn’t rock Sherlock’s world to its very foundations. 

John suddenly glanced up, and Sherlock’s breath caught at the look in John’s eyes. A flicker of hope fluttered in Sherlock’s belly. That look...for a moment, it seemed like the possibility that John might return his feelings was not as impossible as it had seemed. The expression was gone a second later, but Sherlock did not lose it. He filed it away, carefully, a precious treasure captured forever in his Mind Palace. He didn’t say anything, not yet. He wasn’t sure yet. This wasn’t something to be hasty about. Still, he would remember this, and perhaps, maybe (hopefully), something would come of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this chapter, I thought it was going to be a bit of a filler- just a bit of tender fluff. Then magic happened.


	49. A Different Method of Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John feeds Sherlock.

A couple of days later, John thought of something, which if it worked had the twofold benefit of getting Sherlock to stay still and eat, and hopefully also being something Sherlock might enjoy. Sherlock usually woke late, and so John didn’t need to wake up early, just time his preparations so that by the time Sherlock emerged from his bedroom, John had just finished cutting up the fresh fruits which he’d bought the afternoon before, and the honey-drizzled toast, all in bite-sized pieces. In researching this idea of his, he’d been presented with a variety of elaborate finger-food dishes, and had been sorely tempted to attempt a few, but he forced himself to keep it simple. Idea or not, Sherlock was even less of an eater in the mornings than he usually was. 

“What’s this?” Sherlock asked curiously as he came into the kitchen, having surmised with one look that John had something planned. 

John turned to Sherlock, smiling slightly when he noticed that Sherlock hadn’t bothered getting dressed, just thrown on a sheet over his naked body. “Oh, good, you won’t need to get undressed. Come along.” Was all he said. He made his way over to his armchair with the plate of food and sat down. Sherlock, interest piqued, dropped the sheet and followed. Familiar by now with what he was meant to do, he sank to his knees by John’s side, his posture relaxed and comfortable. 

John smiled down at Sherlock, reaching out to run his fingers through Sherlock’s sleep mussed hair, teasing the strands back into place. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered as they always did when John played with his hair, and the man let out a slow breath, relaxing further as he leaned into John’s touch.

“I’m sure you’ve deduced what I’m going to do.” John said, his tone warm, fond. 

Sherlock’s eyes opened again. “You’re going to feed me.” He murmured.

“Clever boy.” John praised. His fingers stroked across Sherlock’s cheek once before going to the plate in his lap, picking out a piece of honeydew. John lifted it to Sherlock’s mouth, which obediently opened, accepting the offered fruit.

John was the one being clever, Sherlock thought. Sherlock was a picky eater at the best of times, a fact John knew well. However, he also was perfectly willing to eat if the situation was right, and if he didn’t get distracted. John had made all of Sherlock’s favourites- and on top of that, the sweetest treat of all, himself. John fed him slowly and steadily, with the same careful patience that characterised everything he did (except when his blood was up, in which case he was rather more of a wild card, which was also rather wonderful). Sherlock found himself dropping easily into subspace. It was a bit like going into his Mind Palace, except that he didn’t _go_ anywhere, he just...wasn’t. The easiest way to get to this state, he’d found, was through pain and humiliation. With enough of it, his brain just gave up on being around. Except, John had found a different way, one Sherlock hadn’t expected in the slightest. With John, what happened was that John took such tender care with him, that his mind could just abandon his body, knowing it was in safe hands. 

John had thought the amount of food he’d prepared to be rather optimistic, but he was surprised to find that Sherlock consumed all of it without so much as a twitch of protest, the man’s eyes blank and dreamy as he chewed and swallowed each morsel that John held to his mouth. 

When all the food was gone, John just watched Sherlock, ran his fingers across his soft, plump lower lip. Sherlock’s mouth opened for him and, in the absence of any food left to give him, John slipped his fingers in, moaning softly when Sherlock closed his mouth around them, suckling gently. He palmed his cock with his free hand, drinking in the sight of Sherlock’s naked body, the view marred only by the bandages that still covered Sherlock’s chest. John forced himself to ignore them, his gaze wandering lower to Sherlock’s narrow hips, framing his hard, leaking cock. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” He murmured. “I’d draw you, if I could. I’m shit at art, though, so I have to content myself with looking.”

At the sound of John’s voice, Sherlock looked up at him, and John could see his consciousness returning, like a camera coming into focus. He didn’t stop suckling at John’s fingers, just continued to do so more purposefully, his tongue the grooves of his fingertips. He glanced at John’s face, then down at his lap, moaning around John’s fingers when he saw the erection tenting the loose material of his pyjamas, his own cock twitching in response. He gripped his knees with his hands, fighting the urge to touch himself. 

John drew his fingers out of Sherlock’s mouth, causing the other man to whine softly in disappointment. He wiped them on the leg of his pants, then cupped Sherlock’s face, thumb stroking one prominent cheekbone as Sherlock leaned heavily into his touch. 

“Soon, I promise.” He said quietly. “You’re doing so well. My good boy.”

He took hold of Sherlock’s elbow, tugging gently at it. This instruction no longer needed words to accompany it- Sherlock got to his feet, and climbed into John’s lap, folding up his spindly limbs until he could fit into John’s arms. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pressing him close until he could feel the beating of Sherlock’s heart against his own chest. He pressed his forehead against Sherlock’s temple, inhaling the scent of an unshowered Sherlock-in-the-morning, his eyes screwed tight shut.

‘I love you.’ He thought loudly, desperately, trying to broadcast the thought directly from his own brain into Sherlock’s. ‘I love you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extra self indulgent I'm not sorry


	50. With Thine Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the sex shop trip.

By early afternoon, Lestrade had still not texted with a case. Sherlock was being rather less manic than usual about this, still riding on the high of their morning activities, but he was still getting rather bored, and so John decided to head off any possible oncoming strop by suggesting they go on that shopping trip he’d suggested. 

That raised the question of _where_ , which John had actually forgotten to think about. He’d never actually been in a sex shop, except for the one time, one a drunken dare in uni. The place had been small and seemed a bit gimmicky, and he wasn’t even sure he remembered where it was, so he didn’t count it as anything meaningful in terms of experience. Luckily, as usual, Sherlock was rather more knowledgeable. 

“There’s a place in Islington that has fetish gear for men, it’s got a very wide range, it get most of my stuff from there.”

“Alright, let’s go, then.”

*****

John found the shop a little overwhelming, to begin with. Everything was black, from the walls to the floor to the shelving, which John supposed fit a certain aesthetic, but it wasn’t really his thing. It was a fairly large shop, too, with, as Sherlock had said, a very wide range. John didn’t really know where to begin. He was relieved when a friendly looking young man approached them, asking they needed help, until Sherlock dismissed him with a haughty look. Sherlock, naturally, had clearly come prepared. He tugged John over to various sections, passing over whatever didn’t interest him and pointing out the things he particularly liked.

First, John found himself standing in front of a shelf covered in blindfolds. “But you’ve got such pretty eyes.” John quipped.

Sherlock looked inordinately pleased at the compliment, before shaking it off with a flick of his head. “It’s up to you, of course, since you’ll be the one in control of scenes. But I find sensory deprivation to be...soothing. Or exciting. Depending on the situation.”

John nodded. “Okay. Um, what sort? Nothing that covers your whole face.” He added. Sherlock was much too pretty for that.

Sherlock nodded, slightly disappointed. There was something arousing about being in a mask or a hood, the sense that came of being nothing more than a body, not even worthy of a face, just a piece of meat to toy with. Still, he supposed that would never actually work with John. John _saw_ him, in more ways than one, he knew him better than anyone. Even if Sherlock was in a hood, it would matter to John (or at least, he hoped it would) that it was _Sherlock_ underneath there. Which was equally arousing to Sherlock, if in a different way, so that was all right.

Sherlock blinked his way out of his thoughts, and reached out, taking down a simple, soft elastic blindfold. “This one.”

John nodded. “Okay. What’s next?”

“This way.” Sherlock headed briskly over to another section of the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I did today- went online shopping, frantically closed the tab every time someone came near me. wHY can't I keep my computer in my own room, this is stressful (and not at all titillating, as some of you insinuated the last time I talked about this). And you know what, the website I was looking at had terrible navigation. It's just bad. Like, if you have a section called 'Playroom', and it has things like frames and racks and benches and horses, then why do you need a separate section entirely called 'Body Bondage'???? This is why it took me so long to find the spreader bars. Also they call dick-shaped gags 'pecker gags' lmao that's so British.


	51. Deduce Me, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butt plugs.

“When you said you like sensory deprivation.” John said as they walked. “Is that for sight only? What about- earplugs?”

Sherlock turned slightly to gift John with a smile, a rare one that meant John was being smarter than Sherlock would have expected from an ‘ordinary’ person. 

“I have noise-cancelling headphones that will work fine. They were especially useful in my teenage years, when my inhibitory control was less capable. At the time, I wasn’t able to enter my Mind Palace if there was any noise around me. I got over that, obviously, but they’re still useful on occasion.”

Sherlock stopped abruptly, and John, following his gaze, found himself looking at several shelves containing a wide variety of butt plugs. There was overwhelming choice- size, colour, shape, various extra functions and gimmicks. They hadn’t yet delved into the area of anal sex, so though John certainly didn’t object to the idea (he was rather looking forward to it, in fact), he had no idea what Sherlock liked. Did he like it big? He did seem like the type. John scanned the shelves, reading the descriptions of each one briefly. He picked one up, laughing slightly.

“Want to be a princess, Sherlock?” He showed Sherlock the box.

Sherlock hesitated slightly, unsure what he was meant to say to that. “I have no desire to be either female or royalty.” 

John gave Sherlock a considering look. To anyone else, that would have sounded like a pretty definite ‘no’. John knew Sherlock better than that, though, and that wasn’t as much of a ‘no’ as John knew Sherlock was capable of.

“There’s something you like about it, though.” It was a guess, but he framed it as a deduction- something he’d learned from Sherlock, so he didn’t feel bad about using it on him. Sherlock’s silence was confirmation enough. “You like the idea of being pretty for me.” That was less of a guess, as John had already seen the way Sherlock looked when John told him how beautiful he was, the way he primped himself up before going out to see someone.

Sherlock found it as amazing when John did this as John seemingly did when Sherlock was deducing on a case. His whole life, he’d never met anyone who could do what he did, other than Mycroft, who obviously didn’t count. John couldn’t do it either- at least, not with anyone else. With Sherlock, however- there was no one who knew Sherlock Holmes better than John Watson, and John knew it. His moods, his expressions, his body language- John could read Sherlock as well as Sherlock could read anyone else. 

“Yes.” He murmured. “I do.”

“Do you like this, though? Specifically?” John lifted the box. 

“No.” Sherlock said flatly. “It’s tacky and ugly.” 

John laughed. Now _that_ was closer to the reaction he’d expected just now. “Okay, so what are we looking for?”

“Vibrating. With a remote control, preferably.”

John grimaced. “You have to get batteries for those.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be lazy, John.” He chastised.

“You’re one to talk. Like you ever do any shopping.” John snorted.

Sherlock huffed. “Just pick one.”

John turned back to the plugs. “Colour? Size?”

“Colour doesn’t matter. Most of it will be inside me, and I’m hardly flexible enough to see what isn’t. As for size- nothing bigger than you. I still want to be able to feel it, when you’re in me.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks coloured slightly as he spoke. After four days of denial, just talking about it was enough to have him half-hard in his trousers. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, remastering himself. When he opened them again, John was smirking up at him. He didn’t say anything, though, just turned away and took down a box, waiting for Sherlock’s nod of approval before dropping it in the basket. Done with the section they were in, Sherlock turned, heading deeper into the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to research noise-cancelling headphones to find out when they became commercially available. So that was pretty cool. Learned a few new things today. Also -for those who don't know what kind of plug John and Sherlock were talking about- it's called a princess plug. It's got a huge jewel (fake, obv) on the end. I think they're kinda cute myself, but I don't imagine they're really Sherlock's style.


	52. Black and Blue For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected erections are pretty much guaranteed when you're in a sex shop and one of you hasn't come in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this shopping trip is longer than I thought it would be. Silly me, thinking I could cram two or three toys into a chapter. No, everything has to have its own banter/discussion. Ah, well. This is more an explorative fic than one in which a lot of things are happening all the time. Which is basically how I always do it. I suppose I have a style.

John gaped slightly when he saw the section they were in- fucking machines. There was a little screen in front of him, playing an advertisement that quite clearly demonstrated how the machine was to be used. The audio was on low, but John could still clearly hear the breathy moaning of the man in the sling as he was fucked relentlessly, and the heavy thrumming of the machine. The unexpected, arousing stimuli had him hardening in his trousers, and he turned away, trying to block it out.

“It’s, uh, definitely something to consider, but I think a purchase like this would need a little more consideration.” He told Sherlock.

Sherlock was staring at the screen, transfixed. It took a moment for John’s words to filter through his consciousness. He blinked a bit, shaking his head to clear it. 

“Oh. Um, yes, of course. This actually wasn’t what I was going to show you.” He took John’s elbow, and guided him a couple of metres to the left. “Spreader bars.”

John was hit with another wave of arousal at the idea. An image filled his mind- Sherlock on his knees, arse in the air, his legs forcibly spread by unforgiving metal, his arms bound behind his back- immobilised, unable to do more than buck into empty air and beg to come, the plug they’d just picked out vibrating in his arse, driving him crazy as John sat by his head, petting his hair, kissing him, telling how good he was, telling him to hold on for just five more minutes. 

John picked up a box, trying to retreat into something like professional distance, lest he throw Sherlock on the floor and fuck him right there and then, blood tests and public decency be damned. He cleared his throat slightly.

“Have you used these before?” He asked Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. “A number of times. Different kinds of restraints each have a different...feeling, to them. Compared to, say, rope, this has a lot less give, which gives a certain...it’s very... It’s good.” He finished lamely, unable to verbalise the feeling. “I like it. A lot.”

John nodded. He turned the box around, reading the back. “And it’s safe? You’ve never, I dunno, dislocated an ankle?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I doubt that’s possible. Occasionally there’s slight bruising, and it’s quite hard on the knees if I’m on the floor, but that’s not really a problem for me.” He cocked his head. “Is it a problem for you?”

John considered this carefully, tried picturing it in his head. Not too hard, as he’d already seen similar bruises on Sherlock’s milky skin. He still had a few, on his inner thighs and the small of his back (“Jesus, Sherlock, he could have got you in the kidneys!”). Seeing it then had unsettled him, but how much of that was just jealousy (and worry over the danger to Sherlock’s internal organs)? He imagined it now, except this time it was John who’d left his mark on Sherlock, not anyone else. He found that was...much more acceptable. 

“No, not a problem.” He said eventually. “So long as I get to kiss it better afterwards.” He added with a small grin.

Sherlock returned the smile. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” He murmured. He turned, picking up a different box. “This one would also allow you to cuff my wrists to the middle of the bar.” He suggested. 

John’s earlier imaginings made a return, updated to include this new information. “Yeah.” He agreed. “Let’s get that one.”


	53. Yours Truly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nipple clamps and cock cages.

“Yeah, good idea.” John said in response to Sherlock’s next proposition. “Your nipples are so sensitive, it’ll be…”

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed. There often weren’t enough words to describe the feelings that came during a scene. Everything was mixed and jumbled, overwhelming, and nipple clamps were one of the things that added an extra layer to that. 

John sifted through the possibilities, his gaze running along the shelving. “What kind of clamps? Or they have these things which have suction…”

“Clamps.” Sherlock said firmly. “With weights.”

It was good that Sherlock was so confident about what he wanted. It was one less thing to worry about, not having to guess blindly while Sherlock acted coy. Not that Sherlock would ever do that, but John imagined that some other subs might. 

“Okay, we can get the kind that clip on, or screws on.” John took the two options down, scrutinizing both. “The screw-on kind seems sort of dangerous. What if it’s too tight?”

Sherlock contemplated trying to placate John, but he could foresee John getting fussy and naggy and needing verbal reassurance when using the screw-ons, even if Sherlock did manage to convince him to give it a try. Sherlock didn’t like having to talk a lot during a scene- it usually pulled him out of subspace. 

“Get the clips, then.” He said instead. “With teeth.” 

Too impatient to wait for John to finish dithering, he reached past him, grabbing a box, and dropped it in the basket, eager to get to the next section.

On the way, though, he got distracted by something which hadn’t been on his mental list, but suddenly became something he really wanted. He slowed to a stop, going to take a closer look. 

John had been following Sherlock, content to let him take the lead for the moment. Seeing what had caught Sherlock’s attention, he smiled. He could tell Sherlock really liked the idea of it, and he did as well. 

“Haven’t you had enough of denial this week?” He teased Sherlock in a low murmur. “You want me to cage it up too, lock your pretty cock away so you couldn’t play with yourself, even if you wanted to?”

Sherlock nodded jerkily. “This week has been...frustrating, but it’s also been good, in an odd way. Something new. Before, being with a Dom was more of a one-night thing, so I’ve actually never done this before. And I like it, I like being a good boy for you.”

The look Sherlock gave John had a vulnerable edge to it, and John picked up on Sherlock’s need, reaching out to lay a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back. 

“You’ve been a very good boy.” He agreed.

Sherlock let out a soft, pleased sigh before continuing. “And this- being caged up, it’ll be like really being...owned.” He gave a little shiver at the thought. “And it’ll always be there. No one will see, but I’ll know, I’ll feel it.” Sherlock couldn’t even begin to explain how much he wanted a tangible reminder of how completely he belonged to John Watson.

Those were precisely John’s feelings on the matter, too. Maybe the possessiveness he felt for Sherlock was beyond the realms of what he’d meant to allow himself when this began, but when Sherlock was so willing, it was hard to resist. He gestured for Sherlock to pick out whichever design of cock cage he liked.

“Don’t wear it yet, though. Not this week. Remember, this week is supposed to be about you having control over yourself. I’m not going to make it easier for you by letting you just wear this.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock agreed. He placed the cage he’d chosen carefully into the basket. 

“Now what?” John asked.

Sherlock smiled. “Now it’s time for you to pick out how you’re going to hurt me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I!!! don't like the first half of this chapter. I was feeling all inspired when I started, and then...pbbbttt. I blame the fish soup I had for dinner. Then I lit a candle, and that made it better.


	54. Different Strokes for Different Folks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to hit Sherlock with? Decisions, decisions...

John considered the array of implements with which he could hit Sherlock with a slight sense of trepidation. 

“I don’t really want to hurt you.” He murmured.

“You don’t have to.” Sherlock said quietly. “It’s-” He couldn’t believe he was saying this- “Not necessary. What we’ve done so far, it’s...fine.”

John looked at him sharply. “You said it’s what you want. One of the main reasons you enjoy...all this. Otherwise, what are you getting out of this?”

Sherlock scowled. “You must be blind if you think I’ve been getting nothing out of this the entire time. Yes, I do prefer it. But it isn’t necessary.”

John’s words were upsetting for multiple reasons. Firstly, Sherlock never liked when John doubted himself and his abilities. Especially when it was so completely unwarranted. Secondly, it was an uncomfortable reminder of what this really was to John- a mutually beneficial arrangement. If Sherlock wasn’t ‘getting anything out of it’, then it all ceased to matter, in John’s eyes. To Sherlock, though, he didn’t think he could’ve stopped even if John had turned out to be an awful Dom. This was so much more than that. 

John gave Sherlock a long look, then nodded. “Okay. Anyway, I didn’t mean that I don’t want to hurt you at all. I meant, I’m worried about accidentally doing you an injury because I’ve never done this before, and I wanted to ask you what would be the best thing to use to avoid any potential accidents, especially while I’m still new to this.”

Sherlock gave John a long look, assuring himself of the sincerity of John’s words. He didn’t want John to just be saying that to appease him. Over the last week, Sherlock had found great pleasure just in knowing that John enjoyed what they did just as much as Sherlock himself did- he reveled in the genuine warmth behind John’s praise, the openly pleased expressions on John’s face when Sherlock was being good for him. To lose that would be to lose more than could be made up for by any number of beatings. However, John seemed to be telling the truth, so he nodded. 

“I wouldn’t really worry. You’re a doctor- you know what areas to stay away from, as I can clearly tell from your many naggings over the last month. Your gross motor control is perfectly adequate, and we both know you’re going to be more careful than is actually strictly necessary.”

“Okay.” John smiled at Sherlock. “Any preferences, then?” 

Sherlock nodded, pointing out a few. “I particularly like the crop. You can get a lot of power behind each hit with minimal energy expenditure. I already have one, though, so I think that’s fine. A cane adds that feeling of being...disciplined, if that’s how you’re looking to use it. The interest of a flogger, for me, is more visual. The impact is spread over a wide area, so you can put a lot of power behind each hit without really hurting me. It’s good if you want to work off some frustration, feel like you’re giving me a proper thrashing. Then there’s the bullwhip. It’s...particularly intense. And there’s a greater chance of injury. But I do like the intensity of it.”

John looked over the options Sherlock had presented. “I wouldn’t hit you to work off frustration.” He said firmly. “That’s not what this is going to be about. I won’t. As for any ‘disciplining’...I think a bare-handed spanking would work fine, don’t you?” John smirked at the way Sherlock flushed pink and nodded. He liked that, then. Good. “The whip...I’ll keep in mind. Not this time around, but I’m sure we’ll come back here at some point. The crop, then.” He picked one up and dropped it in the basket. “Yes, we’re getting a new one. You beat up corpses with the other one. I’m not hitting you with that, that’s disgusting.”

Sherlock huffed in amusement. “Whatever appeases your sensibilities. Come on, next thing, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I?? Put so much thought into this and then ended up with the most cliche option. Ah well, I guess it's cliche for a reason.


	55. Oh Honeybee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do gags and bees have in common? Sherlock loves them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cute little 100% angst free chapter for you guys <3

“I particularly like being gagged.” Sherlock murmured. “Partly, it gives me a good excuse not to talk- I don’t really like talking when I’m in a scene.” He cut his eyes briefly towards John. “Though I did enjoy it when you made me beg.” He added with a smile. “So I suppose it depends. It also adds to the feeling of being- helpless, or sub-human, in a sense, although there are a number of issues with that. Firstly, mute people do exist, and obviously they are just as human as any other idiot, and secondly, the premise of that idea is based on the concept that language and speech is something that is uniquely human. However this is demonstrably untrue- while they obviously cannot speak any human languages, most animals and even some plants have their ways of communicating messages that can be quite complex. Bees, for example, dance to communicate sources of food. The type of dance is different depending on the distance between the hive and the food source. The can also explain direction, and even the quality of food. And all this without anything that humans would call ’speech’.” 

Sherlock had a tendency to go off on tangents in the middle of talking about something else. While some might find it annoying, John found it endearing- to be frank, many of the things Sherlock did only endeared him to John, but listening to him ramble was a particular enjoyment. It mostly happened when Sherlock lit upon a subject that was of particular interest to him, and it entirely changed the way he spoke. His eyes were bright, his voice and gestures even more expressive than usual. 

John grinned up at Sherlock once he was finished. “That’s good to know. Maybe I’ll gag you and have you dance for me, my bee.”

Sherlock flushed, both at the idea and at the endearment. “It’s not that kind of dance, John.” He only managed to sound a little affronted.

John laughed brightly. “You can do any dance you like. I’m sure I’ll love it anyway. Now, focus. What kind of gag?”

Sherlock quickly picked out two. He handed John the penis-shaped gag first. “This is- well, you can never go wrong with cocks.” He grinned slightly. 

John laughed. “That’s as good a reason as any.” He agreed. “And the other one?”

“Spider gag.” Sherlock passed it to John. “To keep my mouth open...available for use.”

Sherlock’s eyes were oddly bright, his breathing shallow as he struggled to keep his arousal in check. John smiled at him. “You really like that, huh?”

Sherlock nodded. “Although it’s a pity there aren’t any that also depress the tongue, for a more complete feeling of restriction.”

John cocked his head, thinking. “I think there are, actually. It’s for performing surgery, but I think it’d work.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Can you acquire it?”

John nodded. “Should be easy to order online.”

Sherlock smiled widely. “Brilliant. I knew it was a good idea to fuck a doctor.”

“Hey!” John protested. “It was my idea. Don’t go taking credit.” 

“Yes, John. It was a very good idea.” Sherlock sighed happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and I share a passion for bees. He is my sweet honey darling I love him.


	56. The Sun Will Come Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the shopping trip.

“No.” John said flatly.

Sherlock looked in surprise between John’s face and the package in his own hands. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected John to reach his limit at some point, but it was mildly surprising that _this_ was the boundary line for him.

John sighed. “Okay, it’s not a _no_ no, but...maybe we can leave the urethral play for next time?”

Sherlock gave John a searching look, then put the package back on the shelf. “Okay.” He said simply. John let out a short breath of relief. “Why?” Sherlock asked curiously.

John gestured at their basket full of toys. “We’ve got…” He paused to count. “Seven things in here. Which I think is plenty for now, honestly, and we can always come back here. And sounding is a whole area in itself, and I think...I’d prefer to just have a few things to focus on, for now.”

Sherlock nodded. “Well, that’s everything I wanted done. Anything else?”

John shook his head. “Okay, let’s go pay for this lot.”

The total for eight items came up to over six hundred pounds- eight items, because at the last minute Sherlock had seen something for strapping his spread-eagled form to the mattress- perfect, he’d said, because his bed didn’t have posts. John didn’t put up much protest. Still, he balked a little at spending nearly half a month’s worth of rent in toys. Sherlock had offered to pay, but John rejected that idea on principle. Sherlock then offered to let ‘Mycroft’ pay. Frankly, the idea of that was even more horrifying. 

“You’ve got quite the expensive hobby.” John remarked to Sherlock as they waited for a cab. 

Sherlock smiled at John. “It’s your hobby now, too.” 

John smiled back. “By the way, the lab texted. We can go pick up the results tomorrow.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. “We could go today.” 

John glanced at his watch. “Mm, nope. Clinic closes in ten minutes. We’ll never make it.”

“You have the keys. You could just go in and pick it up.” Sherlock pointed out.

“I could.” John admitted. “But you look lovely when you get all wound up, and I feel like making you wait until tomorrow.” 

Sherlock let out a frustrated groan. “You’re cruel.” He muttered.

John smiled. “You like it.”

“I do.” Sherlock admitted. 

Sherlock managed to flag down a cab, and they both got in. After telling the driver where to go, John slid close to Sherlock, leaning in to speak quietly into his ear. “I know you’ve been such a good boy for me these past few days, Sherlock. You haven’t touched yourself at all, have you?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, John.”

John smiled, kissing the shell of Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock shuddered lightly, his head falling back against the seat, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp. 

“I’m so proud of you. You’ve done so well, and I think you really deserve a reward. But I’m absolutely dead on my feet right now, which why I wanted to wait until tomorrow, when I’ll be able to give you the good, hard fucking you’ve been waiting for. Okay?”

Sherlock nodded. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! I'm excited for tomorrow. Are you?


	57. Better than Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a surprise for John.

The nurse on duty at the clinic, Maira, looked at John in surprise when he walked in. “Didn’t know you were on duty today, Doctor Watson.”

John shook his head, smiling. “No, I’m here to pick up some lab results? For John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.”

Maira looked between John and the skulking figure of Sherlock behind him. “Oh. I see.” She smiled knowingly at John before glancing at her computer, tapping away at it. “Give me a second. Haven’t printed them yet.”

She efficiently printed their results and put each in its envelope, passing both to John. “Have a nice day!” She said with a salacious wink.

John gave her a small grin and a nod as he left. The second they were out of the clinic, Sherlock took the envelope with his name on it out of John’s hand, ripping it open. He quirked a brow before passing it to John to hold as he hailed a cab.

“Perfect bill of health. I told you so.” Sherlock said casually.

“Yes, well, better to be safe.” John huffed. “You, Sherlock Holmes, are a very lucky man.” John knew enough of Sherlock’s previous activities to know that the fact that he hadn’t contracted anything was a minor miracle. 

Sherlock shrugged. He wasn’t in the habit of calculating exactly how unlikely it was that he was still alive, but between the drugs, the unsafe sex, and the cases, he was well aware that his continued existence was something of a statistical improbability. He managed to hail a cab, opening the door for John before getting in after him.

“221 Baker Street. Are you going to open yours now, John?” Sherlock looked at John with a mixture of expectancy and impatience.

“Yeah, alright, hang on.” John opened his own envelope with slightly more finesse than Sherlock. He glanced at it, then passed the paper over to Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t even glance at it, reading everything he needed to know from John’s face. He slipped it into his coat pocket. John met Sherlock’s eyes, sharing with him an excited smile. 

“When we get home, John,” Sherlock murmured, “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

*****

The second the door of the flat closed behind them, John had Sherlock pinned up against the wall, the beginnings of an erection already pressing up against Sherlock’s thigh.

“God, this week has been hell.” He growled as he mouthed hungrily at Sherlock’s throat. “Having this, you, _right there_ but just out of reach.” He groaned. “I had something planned...was going to tease you, torture you so perfectly...but right now I just want to fuck you into oblivion.”

Sherlock moaned at the assault, gripping onto John’s shoulders for the support his knees suddenly failed to provide him. “Yes, John.” He gasped. “Just- let me get my clothes off.”

Moving away from Sherlock at this point felt like it might almost be physically painful. Reluctantly, John stepped back, giving Sherlock space to undress. Sherlock shucked his coat, hanging it up. The rest of his attire was more carelessly dropped on the floor. It was a quick, efficient undressing- hardly a strip tease, but at this point John was hard enough that it didn’t really matter. Sherlock plucked something out of his coat pocket. John glanced curiously at the item hidden in Sherlock’s palm. He was thoroughly distracted from that, though, when Sherlock turned and bent over the kitchen table, legs spread wide. Sherlock looked absolutely wanton like that, every long, lean line of his body begging for John’s touch- but best of all, nestled between his round, pale arse cheeks, was the base of the plug they’d bought the day before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, we return to our regularly scheduled porn. *cheering*


	58. Home Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John teases Sherlock, pleasures him, and then finally gives him what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so fun to write. Hopefully it'll be as fun to read! ;^)

John stepped forwards to cup Sherlock’s plush arse in his hands, thumbs kneading at the soft flesh. He spread Sherlock’s cheeks to get a better look, causing Sherlock to groan at how lewd the action felt. He felt exposed, _inspected_. He got up on his toes, pressing his arse closer to John. 

Reacting almost instinctively, John brought his palm down sharply against Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock stiffened at the sudden sting, then went boneless, moaning helplessly. 

“None of that.” John said firmly. “Don’t I keep telling you to stay still?” 

Sherlock hummed his acquiescence. John pressed his thumb against the base of the plug, rubbing at it, causing the plug to shift and press against the walls of Sherlock’s hole. 

“We’ll be needing some lube.” John murmured.

“Here.” Sherlock reached backwards to press two items into John’s hand. The first was a small tube of lubricant. The second was the remote for the plug in Sherlock’s arse. John’s eyebrows rose. 

“Is this why you had your hands in your coat pocket the whole time? Were you playing with yourself without permission, naughty boy?”

“No!” Sherlock said quickly. “I wasn’t using it. That’s- that’s for you. I was just...touching it a bit. I didn’t turn it on, John, I promise.”

John scanned Sherlock’s face, considering his answer. His fingers tugged and twisted at the plug. Sherlock gasped, jerking slightly as the smooth bumps on the plug glided across his prostate. John set the remote down and uncapped the lube, drizzling it over Sherlock’s hole. 

“I believe you.” John said quietly. “Because I know you’re my good boy, aren’t you Sherlock?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock said fervently.

“I know, you’re so good. You lovely thing.” John’s voice was like his hands- warm, gentle, infinitely soothing to Sherlock. “But I want you to remember something.” He continued, more stern now.” This-” He pulled the plug out halfway, and then slowly eased it back in. “-is mine now. Your little hole isn’t for you to play with when I’m not around. It is my choice to give you pleasure, or pain, as I choose. When I choose. Understand?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock moaned. 

John smiled, stroking a warm hand down Sherlock’s flank. With the other hand, he picked up the remote. “Now, let’s try this, shall we?”

The plug came to life inside of Sherlock, vibrating at a maddeningly low level. Sherlock moaned, clenching around it, all his muscles quivering with the effort not to hump the air. Slowly, the vibrations increased in intensity, until Sherlock felt almost assaulted with pleasure, relentless thrumming threatening to drive him over the edge at any moment. He gripped the edge of the table, his toes curling and flexing against the cool tile of the kitchen floor.

“John! Please, no, I’m going to come!” Sherlock cried out.

The vibrations suddenly died, and Sherlock relaxed, breath coming in ragged pants. John’s hands were back on him, stroking and petting his back. Sherlock sighed with pleasure, resisting the urge to arch up into John’s touch.

“No?” John asked curiously. “Don’t you want to come?”

“Not yet.” Sherlock said. “Want you in me. Please, John?”

John certainly had no objections to that. He was fully hard in his trousers, just from looking at Sherlock, listening to the sounds he made and watching his face contort in pleasured agony. He quickly shucked his trousers and pants, then pulled out the plug, groaning at the soft, slick sound of it popping out, and the way Sherlock’s hole fluttered and winked, mouthing at empty air. He lubed himself up, then pressed his cock against Sherlock’s entrance, their moans sounding in tandem as he slowly slid in.


	59. Down for the Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes good on his promise, and fucks Sherlock into oblivion.

John groaned as he sank fully into Sherlock, his hips stilling as he savoured Sherlock’s wet heat, the way he clenched and spasmed around him. He set a slow, almost exploratory rhythm, slowly pulling out and pressing back in, gripping Sherlock’s hips to hold him still as he enjoyed the slick slide of Sherlock’s arse around his cock. Sherlock was unabashedly vocal, letting out moans and sighs each time John fucked into him. 

“God, you feel amazing.” John moaned. “So hot and tight, Sherlock. Feels so good.”

Slowly, John picked up the pace, fucking into Sherlock hard and fast. A tight heat coiled and curled in John’s gut, ramping up quickly until he reached the tipping point, his grip tight on Sherlock’s hips as he slammed into him until, with a loud moan, John came, his body hunched over Sherlock’s as he humped his way through a powerful orgasm. 

Sherlock let out a whine as John pulled out, his own cock still hard and leaking. John slid his fingers through Sherlock’s messy crack, stroking Sherlock’s cock gently with his fingertips. Sherlock gasped at the barely-there contact, mushing his face into the table as he tried not to buck into John’s touch. 

“I’ve kept you waiting for so long, you poor thing.” John murmured. “Do you want to come now?”

“Yes, John. Please.” Sherlock breathed, already too exhausted to bother properly voicing his words.

John pressed two fingers into Sherlock’s loose, come-filled hole, rubbing the pads of his fingers against Sherlock’s prostate as he stroked Sherlock’s cock with his other hand. 

“Ah- ah-ah-ah, _John_ , oh my _God_ , John, _John_ , JOHN!” Sherlock cried out as he came, days of pent up sexual energy finally released, his body shuddering and writhing in John’s capable hands as he came apart from sheer pleasure. 

Sherlock went slack as he finished coming, slumping against the table, his knees trembling as he tried to keep from slipping off. 

John noticed this, with a slight sense of self-satisfaction. “Come on, up for a bit and you can go lie down in your own bed.” He coaxed gently, helping Sherlock to stand. 

Sherlock stood, then immediately slumped against John, leaning almost all of his weight against the shorter man. “Can’t walk. You’ll have to carry me.” He muttered. 

“Absolutely not, you lanky menace.” John murmured, voice laced with fondness. “Come along.”

Still, John did practically carry Sherlock, what with how much of his weight he was supporting as they slowly made their way into Sherlock’s bedroom. John got Sherlock under the covers, tugging them snug around him. Sherlock clasped his fingers around John’s wrist as John straightened up.

“Aren’t you going to stay with me?”

John smiled fondly down at Sherlock. “Of course I am. But don’t you want to get cleaned up first?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Want you more.”

John felt like maybe his heart might maybe be actually literally melting. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, then slid in with Sherlock, wrapping him up in his arms. Sherlock sighed contentedly, snuggling closer. 

“Plus,” he muttered sleepily, “I like having you in me...in any way.”

John laughed softly. “Kinky bastard.” he murmured.

Sherlock glanced up, gifted John with a broad, untamed smile. “You knew that already. You like it.”

John stroked his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, resting his chin on the top of Sherlock’s head. “I do, I love you.” He said quietly, then stilled. Shit. It, he’d meant it. He glanced down to gauge Sherlock’s reaction, only to find that he was already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil grin* I just love to frustrate all of you.


	60. Baby be Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock dares to ask.

Several weeks passed in a haze of crime solving and very, very good sex. John didn’t slip up again, but the seed of fragile hope that had been planted in Sherlock’s mind that night in the bathroom continued to grow, fed and watered on John’s praise, his gentleness, his affection and care. It grew, into something almost like a certainty- that Sherlock didn’t just have to _want_ , but he could also _have_. All the needed to do was ask, because when he asked, John would find a way to provide. He always did. 

So Sherlock screwed up his courage. He broached the subject during a quiet night in. John was in his pyjamas, Sherlock naked at his feet, his head in John’s lap as John stroked his hair with one hand and fed him fried wontons with the other -not exactly the most sensual choice, to be sure, but it was very _them_ \- and that was all that mattered, in the end. Since the first time John had tried this, it had rapidly become Sherlock’s favourite way to eat. As Sherlock crunched on the last bit of wonton, John set the carton down on the floor and pressed his fingertips to Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock lapped happily at them, cleaning off the grease and tiny crumbs still clinging to the pads of John’s fingers. Sherlock could sympathise- he was much the same. He was hooked on John, he couldn’t stay away if he tried. He needed John’s hands on him, in him, anywhere and everywhere. 

Sherlock mentally chided himself for waxing poetic about _crumbs_ , of all things. He glanced up at John, who was looking down at him with the same affectionate expression he usually had. Really, having sex regularly was doing wonders for John’s mood. Even when he was annoyed with Sherlock he never got into as much of a temper as he used to. 

“John?” Sherlock murmured, John’s fingers falling from his mouth. 

John’s soft gaze focussed on Sherlock, a hand still carding through Sherlock’s curls. He wiped his other hand on Sherlock’s collarbone- Sherlock didn’t mind, he knew John could clean him up later. John hummed softly to show he was listening.

“This morning, at the crime scene.” Sherlock murmured. “The new officer- she was flirting with you.” 

John thought he had an idea where this was going. “Yes, I know.” 

“You’re not going to call her.” It was a deduction, not a demand or a request. She’d given John her number. John had taken it, but only out of politeness. He’d barely glanced at it, just tucked it into his pocket. If he’d cared to keep it, it would have gone into his wallet. John’s pockets were either emptied into the rubbish at the end of the day, or John would forget to do it and the contents would be ruined in the wash. 

“No.” John agreed.

“Why not? You find her attractive.” Sherlock pressed.

John’s fingers kneaded at the base of Sherlock’s skull as he formulated his words. “Getting into a relationship with a woman at this point would be...messy. I’d have to figure out how to explain this, first of all.” He gestured between them. “And then even if she was fine with that, I’m just not really available. With my time, for one thing. What with the clinic and you. And-” He hesitated, wondering how much he should say. He’d said a lot already, though, almost too much, and the look in Sherlock’s eyes prompted him to continue. “Emotionally, as well. I’m also- occupied, in that sense.”

Sherlock lifted his head, mouth dry. He thought that he’d had a speech of sorts planned, but all eloquence previously in him seemed to have vanished. 

“I love you too.” He blurted out. “I want you to be mine. Like I’m yours. Not in precisely the same way, of course, not like that, but- Please, John.” He reached up to take John’s hand in his, folding his long fingers over John’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly there! *sobs in relief*


	61. In the Affirmative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives Sherlock his response.

John gazed at Sherlock, expression soft and open. He moved the hand not enfolded in Sherlock’s to cup Sherlock’s cheek, his thumb stroking one prominent cheekbone. 

“Of course.” He murmured, voice barely more than a whisper. “Of course, I am. I’ve always been.” 

Sherlock closes his eyes. He’s shaking, he realises. “You got married.” He points out.

“Even so.” John leans forward, presses his forehead against Sherlock’s. “Always. Even then.”

Sherlock lets out a soft, shaky sigh. He reaches up to cover John’s hand with his own. “Please, John.” He breathes. “Kiss me.” 

John kisses him then, achingly gentle as he guides Sherlock’s lips open with his own, tasting him, consuming him. He takes his time, but still Sherlock is breathless, his heart pounding in his throat, his fingertips buzzing. John leans back, and Sherlock follows, falling forward against him. He is overpowered, overcome, helpless to do anything but cling desperately to John.

“I love you.” John murmurs, and Sherlock whimpers, burying his face in John’s neck.

They stayed there awhile, just holding on, breathing each other in. Sherlock could hardly believe this was happening. Even though he was the one who’d instigated this, somehow the whole situation held a dream-like quality. John leaned back, tilted Sherlock’s chin up so he could kiss him again. 

“You never did that.” Sherlock murmured. “You’ve never kissed me, before today.”

Trust Sherlock to notice even that. “No.” John agreed. “I had to find a way to draw a line. Or I’d forget entirely that there was one.”

Sherlock’s lips quirked. “It’s an odd place to draw it.” He gestured at himself, on his knees, body naked and cock locked. 

John huffed. “Maybe. But there isn’t one any more.” He paused. “Except for those we keep for ourselves. I mean, you are still allowed to safeword.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Not that again.” Over weeks of scenes of varying levels of intensity, Sherlock hadn’t even thought about safewording once. He thought, by this point, that it was something of a redundancy, but John insisted on reminding him, every now and then.”Are you really going to keep at that?”

“Always.” John promised. He was talking about more than just safewording. 

Sherlock smiled up at John. “I’ll hold you to that.” There was a question in his eyes. 

John laughed. “Please do.” He leaned down to kiss Sherlock again. “I know this isn’t something that will go away. This isn’t some fleeting, lust-fuelled flight of fancy. I promise you. I’m yours. Only yours.”

Knowing- really _knowing_ that John was _his_ , that their ‘arrangement’ had turned into a ‘partnership’- it caused a lightness to bloom in Sherlock’s chest. He felt almost buoyant with it. His fingers gripped John’s knees, as though letting go would cause him to float away. John smiled, brushing his hands down Sherlock’s arms to take Sherlock’s hands in his.

“I think it’s time we took this to the bedroom, don’t you?”

Sherlock smiled, and spoke the words he’d said many times before, the words he would say another thousand times more, and never tire of. “Yes, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't expected to end this here. But I think this is a good stopping point. But of course, there's lots more to tell. As you can see, this has been turned into a series. There won't be a sequel proper, but I'm planning to write little short extras. So if there's anything you want to see in John and Sherlock's future, or missing scenes in the fic you want to see filled, let me know. I plan to keep writing in this universe for a while more.


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